tagNonConsent/ReluctanceGod of Mischief and Lies

God of Mischief and Lies


~* Okay, so I've never done this sort of thing before, and to be honest, I'm a tiny bit terrified. So, be gentle with me. It's my first time.*~

It was dark, in this tiny little ocean town. The smell and taste of salt was exhilarating to Loki, as he looked around. No one had seen him come, stepping down and out of the Bifrost. He picked a direction and walked, passing houses and cross streets and yards and cars, simply walking. It was fall here, the air crisp and clean, shivering with change and a playful wickedness. It was a beautiful night, the harvest moon shining an eerie orange in the sky, and everything was mysterious and lonely and filled with a sort of longing that made him ache.

He stopped when he came to a path, cutting to his left through the forest that separated some of the houses, now fewer and far between. It was inviting, so he took it. Leaves brushed gently at him, and fresh mushrooms sprung out of the ground, some of them wider than his outstretched hand, and tall enough to reach the tops of his boots. A curl of anticipation tightened in his stomach, though for what he didn't know, but he always trusted his instincts. The path made another sharp turn to his left, and angled upwards toward a small blue and white cottage. He headed towards it, stealthily walking the perimeter. He saw a window, the sill covered in candles, cramped together on every available inch of surface. Other than that, the house was unremarkable. But the candles made him curious.

He entered the darkened house quietly, the lock giving way with no resistance. He was the God of Mischief, and the door didn't even have a deadbolt. Any teenager with a credit card and a few seconds would have made short work of it.

A tiny black and white kitten startled him momentarily, winding around his feet, purring loudly. He caressed its head for a second before gently scooting it aside with the toe of his boot. His night vision was quite good, and he made his way past the cooking area before reaching a hallway. Gently, he tried the door on his right. A sleeping woman was draped around a man, both of them naked, the glow of a computer monitor throwing the room into relief. Nothing particularly interesting here. The kitten was back, attempting to climb his booted leg. He grabbed the thing, tiny enough to fit in one hand, and placed it on his shoulder, where it stayed, content to view the world from this new vantage point. Cats always liked him, for some reason.

He turned another door knob. A soft glow lit this room, the source, a string of orange lights framing a luxurious bed. Swirls of black and grey covered the plush blanket, which had been carelessly kicked aside. Several soft looking pillows littered the ground, and more were piled haphazardly around the sleeping figure on the bed. The grey sheet she was swaddled in showed a shapely figure, one pale leg curled out. Her bare back glowed softly, illuminated by the lights, and one arm, hanging off the bed, showed a tattoo; a black and blue feather, bursting into birds mid-flight. A head of bloody red hair curled gently down her shoulders.

The kitten on his shoulders mewled softly and made as if to jump onto the bed. Loki caught it before it could land and wake the girl. She shifted some, sighing and turning her face towards him, revealing long lashes resting against her cheeks, and full lips, pouting slightly in sleep.

He turned for a second, to put the kitten down outside the door, closing it quietly, before turning and receiving a shock. The girl was propped up, pointing a rather shiny gun at his chest, eyes wide. She held it like she knew how to use it. He silently cursed himself. He'd allowed himself to be distracted. Careless, very careless. A quick survey of the room revealed that there were two separate knife hilts protruding from beneath the mattress and box spring, close to where her arm had been hanging. Two magazines that would undoubtedly find a home inside her gun were sitting on the bedside stand next to her. He also noticed the she hadn't put one inside said weapon. The gun was empty. He decided to start with that.

He put his hands in the air, a sign of submission and unarmed harmlessness. Neither of which were the least bit true. He took a step towards her.

"Don't." Was all she said. She shook her head, but her arm remained steady, not a single twitch. Either she wasn't aware of her lack of ammunition, or she thought he wouldn't notice her bluff. Most mortals probably wouldn't, not with such a pretty naked woman pointing such a large, shiny gun at them.

"You have no bullets." He said to her, taking another step.

"There's one in the chamber." She said, matter of factly. This made him hesitate. She was either an accomplished liar, or it was true. But why would she bother to have one in the chamber without the rest of the magazine as insurance? He chose to call her on it.

"I doubt it." He said to her. The fact that she didn't try to load the weapon almost made him hesitate again, but the shallow movement at her breast, the rapid pulsing at her neck gave her away. She may know how to point and shoot her gun, but she had never done either of these things at a person.

"Are you willing to bet your life on it?" She replied smartly. He grinned and took another step, and another, until his chest was pressed against the barrel of the gun and he was merely an arms length away from her. He was pressing his luck, to be sure, but what was life without a little risk? Besides, he had surprised her, he could see. She was unsure of what to do now, and out of luck. Her wide eyes shone almost unnaturally green in the light. He gently rested his hand on the barrel of the gun, wrapping long fingers around it.

"Let me take that, before someone gets hurt." He said, softly. She opened her mouth to protest, but he moved quickly, snatching the gun from her hands before she could recover from her initial shock. But she surprised him, reaching for the bigger of the two knives. He caught her wrist before she could, and the other, when she lashed out towards him. He noticed, with strange approval, that she had closed her fist to land a blow against his jaw, rather than with an open hand. She knew how to fight. But he was bigger and stronger and much more immortal than she was. His hands encircled her wrists, which were small and delicate, despite her plucky attempt to fight back. He pulled her to her feet and closely against him. He could feel her body heat radiating through his thin shirt. Something about her... Her wide eyes, staring into his; her breath, coming in shallow pants through those lips; her heart beat, like a hummingbird's; and the fragile bones of her wrists, caught in his hands... he would only have to squeeze slightly... And still she fought against him, twisting her arms, trying to break free, testing the strength of her new bonds. He was going to do something foolish. Yes, he was. He could almost taste the regret, the idiocy, on the back of his tongue, but it was his nature to create chaos, even for himself.

He easily wrapped one of his hands around both of her wrists, placing the other at the back of her neck. He willed her to sleep, and was rewarded with the tell-tale fluttering of her eyelashes.

But she didn't sleep. She seemed to shake it off. He frowned, and grasped the back of her neck more firmly, staring deeply into her eyes. She stared back, now with a sort of insolence, and began wrenching her wrists from him with a renewed vigour. He tightened his grip cruelly, which brought a hiss from between her clenched teeth. The momentary pain seemed to lower her defenses, and this time, her eyes closed, body relaxed, and he caught her with an arm around her shoulders and one catching her at the bend of her legs, cradling her to him. She was so small.

He took his regrettable decision with him, out the door, and into the street from where he had come, looking up at the stars, so foreign from this earth. He willed himself skyward, pulling the Bifrost to him and simply stepping up and out from the Midgard and into Asgard. He looked down at the mortal woman cradled in his arms with a mixture of apprehension and triumph. He hadn't known what he was looking for this night, when he traveled into the Midgard, but he had found it, whatever it was. Part of him hoped it wouldn't be trouble. Part of him hoped it would.

Aevelyn awoke with a start and instinctively reached out for the cold comfort of her gun. Her hand groped bed sheets instead. Groggily, something registered as "off" in her head. Bed sheets....

She was sleeping on the wrong side of the bed. Or, rather, in the middle of the bed, which was still wrong. She only ever slept on the right side, arm draped over the edge for easy access to her gun and her knives, which, thankfully, she had never had to use. But she had been raised by a Marine, and knew how to protect herself. Theoretically, anyway. Her dream came rushing back to her. Another one of those "helpless" dreams, where everything she did to fight back didn't work. She hated those dreams. They frightened her more than her usual nightmares.

Yawning, she rolled to the correct side of the bed and reached for her phone to check the time, but this time, groped only air. Her bedside table was gone. Her eyes snapped open. Not just her table. Her room had disappeared. She stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, wrapped in unfamiliar sheets in an unfamiliar room.

"Are you hungry?" A voice echoed softly to her. She sat up quickly, keeping the sheets clutched over her breasts. The man from her dream stood before her, holding a large bunch of red grapes out to her. The torches (Torches? Where the hell was she?) in their sconces reflected their firelight upon the fruit, making them gleam like precious gems. He continued to hold the grapes out to her, though he was several yards away, and began walking slowly to her. The gesture was oddly inviting. She stayed where she was, though, watching him warily. His wild, chestnut brown hair gleamed softly in the firelight. A green tunic brought out the green in his hazel eyes, and his leather breeches looked like painted-on oil spills. What appeared to be doeskin boots completed the ensemble. She had never seen anyone dress this way before. But she had never actually seen torches before either. "They're fresh." He said, his voice silky. To demonstrate their apparent freshness, though she hadn't argued it, he plucked one off the vine and placed it between his lips, sucking it slowly into his mouth. She was momentarily mesmerized by the way his cheeks hollowed. Then he bit down on it, the fruit crunching loudly. "Not poisoned." He said, smiling gently. He continued his slow walk to her, stopping only a few feet from her, hand still extended.

She was tired and bewildered and vaguely frightened (only vaguely?), and though the fruit looked tantalizing, she would have to step out of the comfort zone of the bed to accept his offer, and that was so not happening. So, she just kept staring at him, which was easy, since he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes.

"I'm going to have to come to you, then?" He asked, smoothly. "That isn't a regular occurrence." He walked closer to her. Her heart began to slam itself against her ribs, jumping into her throat painfully. He came to sit at the bedside, and tempted as she was to scoot away from him, pride kept her rooted in place. She watched him pluck another grape from the vine, his long fingers rolling it lazily between thumb and forefinger before placing it between his teeth and biting it neatly in half, exposing the deep purple flesh inside and peering at it intently. Then he looked up at her, catching her eyes with his and popping the other half into his mouth, keeping painfully intense eye-contact the entire time. He grinned at her and she felt an unexplainable heat flush her cheeks. Another grape, but this time, he held it out to her. She hesitated.

"I know you're not mute. You spoke enough to threaten my life last night. And you attempted to strike me, so I know you're not timid." He looked at her, expecting a response, but she didn't know what to say, so she kept silent. People tended to fill silences, and you learned more by listening. "I promise. They're delicious." She reached out and gingerly took it from him. He smiled his encouragement, and she bit down on it. It crunched gratifyingly between her teeth and exploded with a juicy sweetness.

"Oh.. wow." Another grin, one of genuine happiness that set her heart pounding again.

"I did tell you." He said, pulling another from it's stem. This time, when he offered it to her, he put it a few inches from her lips. She was going to refuse, but the look in his eyes, a tentative softness that was oddly compelling, made her think twice. They stared without blinking for a long moment, before she opened her mouth slightly. He slid it slowly between her lips, and when she closed her mouth to bite down on the fruit, he pinched her lower lip gently. Another flush warmed her skin, and her lip tingled fiercely, even after he had retracted his hand. He did not offer another grape. Instead, they simply stared at each other. He seemed just as bewildered as she did.

"Did you not plan this step?" She asked, when her curiosity got the best of her. A look of startlement sparked his eyes, then he threw his head back with gleeful laughter.

"Clever girl. You read well. I admit, I had no intentions of taking in any... guests when I entered into Midgard last night. You took me by surprise. I took me by surprise."

"I don't understand. What were you doing in my house?" He shrugged, a graceful movement that meant absolutely nothing, but was beautiful all the same.

"Exploring." He answered cryptically. She raised an eyebrow. He knew he made no sense, so she didn't bother asking for a clarification. He could see the question on her face and answer if he so chose. She wouldn't ask, because that's what he wanted. And indeed, he stared at her for a second before that grin uncurled. "You won't play? You are clever. You, of the porcelain skin and bloody hair. I think you will do quite nicely."

"Do for what?" She asked. This conversation was quickly turning onto a road that should have a "No Trespassing" sign on it.

"Whatever I like." He said, softly. A shiver crawled it's frigid way up her spine, and her tongue seemed to cement itself to the roof of her mouth. There was a long silence, then-

"What is it you do?" She was taken aback.

"I beg your pardon?"

"In your mortal world, what is your occupation?" She hesitated at "'mortal world'", but answered anyways, unsure of the odd compulsion that pushed her to be honest with him.

"I don't really have an occupation. I'm a bartender. And a waitress. And a cook."

"All at once?" He asked. She didn't miss the soft tone of patronization in his voice.

"No. I have several different jobs." He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"And your hobbies?" She shrugged.

"I have a band." She said. "We play around town sometimes."

"And what do you play?"

"I sing." He grinned.

"You enjoy the limelight."

"Where am I?" She asked, abruptly. It was time to stop beating around the bush. And, honestly, she was surprised it had taken her this long to get serious. She had, after all, been kidnapped by some odd sort of escaped Renaissance Fair Psych patient.

"You are in Asgard." She gave him a shrug and shook her head.

"The realm of the Gods." He reiterated. She sucked in a deep breath and held it for several seconds before letting it out slowly.

"So... did you miss a dose or something?" She asked. "Or was it more like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?"

"I have no idea to what you are referring," He answered. "But I have the odd feeling you might be mocking me." She drew back as he rose from the bedside and towered over her, a chill filling the air, his eyes sparking bright and angry. "That is not advised. I don't take it lightly, being ridiculed." His voice, instead of growing loud with anger, grew quieter, a deep, growl.

"Don't get angry with me." She snapped, poorly hiding the derision in her voice. "You take me out of my home, and bring me to... to wherever this is, and then tell me I'm in the "'realm of the Gods'"? You can't see how I might not take you seriously?" She watched him hesitate for a second, and she nearly squirmed under his intense gaze, his brow furrowed with thought.

"You are an insolent little thing." He said to her, ponderously, though she didn't think he meant it badly.

"I'm only being honest." She told him. He smiled slightly.

"That's ironic, for I am Loki, God of Lies."

"I don't believe in God." She said. She meant to goad him, but all she received was a grin, eyes wild with joy and, deeper, something much more sinister. She was startled when he moved quickly towards her. She tried to move back from him, but he was too fast. She stared up at him as he held one of her wrists above her head, pinned to the headboard, and the other pinned next to her on the mattress. Fierce victory flamed bright green in his eyes. She could feel her heart painfully in her chest, her breathing short and shallow as he put his face very near hers. She could smell him, a sweetness mixed with the leather on his clothing.

"I will give you a God to believe in, and a King to kneel to." He purred at her. "You will pray to me, give penance to me, pay tithe to me, and no other. I will fill you with dark flame, and you will come to crave it." As he said this he moved closer to her, until his last words were brushed against her lips. She shuddered, heat stabbing at her core. She tried to summon up the fear that would be appropriate in this particular situation, but what frightened her the most was her utter lack of fear. She could feel her own frantic breathing against his lips as he kept her there, and she suppressed the urge to flick her tongue against his bottom lip. But when he leaned back, he continued to hold her eyes with his, the grin on his face, the satisfaction in his eyes told her that he knew, knew her odd compulsion to taste him.

"You don't fear me." He said to her, releasing her now bruised wrists. "I like that. Bold and prideful. I do so enjoy a challenge." She watched his eyes travel downwards, a smile that was sin incarnate uncurling on his mouth. She hastened to cover herself up again, as she had released the sheets covering her breasts when he had grabbed her. "Oh, don't cover up for my sake, little bird." He said, wickedly.

"It wasn't." She shot back, illiciting only a laugh from him. "Look... I have to go to work in the morning. And I have a gig in a week. I'd like to think that if you were going to kill me, you'd have done so by now, so, could you maybe let me go, and take another hostage? Maybe a prettier, less employed one?"

"And why should I indulge you? I brought you here for myself. I had no thought for your convenience then, nor do I now. I have you here, so taking you back seems rather counterproductive, does it not?"

"People will look for me. My roommates, my band members, my coworkers. They'll freak out and find me."

"Let them look. I've already told you, we're in Asgard now. No Midgardian will find you again, unless I wish it so."

"Well, can you wish it at least for the gig? It's important."

"What is a 'gig'?"

"It's... a performance. My band, we're playing and it's really important."

"You plead not for your life, but for your music." She saw the bemusement on his face.

"Well... yeah." She said rather lamely. Her heart sank when he began to shake his head slowly.

"I know not why, or how, but for some reason... you pique my curiosity. Like a cat watches a mouse. I want to watch you run away before I chase and devour you. Alright, little one. You have a week. After your performance, you are mine. Say your goodbyes, or don't. It matters not. One week from this night. And please, before you inevitably try, don't bother running. I am a God. I will find you, and punish you if you attempt to evade me."

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