cunningas: (adrien: just get in the car bitch)
[requested by [livejournal.com profile] most_amazing here]

"Come on, you'll love it."

"But I have so much studying to do- ack!" Hermione's protest was cut off by a rather undignified squawk prompted by Loki merely closing his fingers about her wrist and pulling her with him.

From Hogwart's to the Library of Congress in less than a heartbeat.

He grinned as she stared about in wonder, he didn't have to say I told you so when it was written all over his face. "Maybe we'll try the New York Public Library next."

[for the record: the LoC is amazing even if it didn't have any books in it. Beautiful beautiful place, I have pictures somewhere.]




He came to her again in the summer. No school or classwork to keep her occupied. And perhaps he'd come in the form of a handsome young man about her age with flashing green eyes who'd flattered her parents and made them think she'd had a date. Perhaps he'd gotten her out of the house before she'd had much of a chance to protest. Perhaps he'd taken her away in a flashy sports car and driven the miles of roadways in England, pointing out little known places of interest.

Here, where he'd spent time among a Roman army, though some of them were more Briton than Roman. Rather like that one King Arthur movie, really.

There, where the Sidhe had held many a late night revel and he danced in the dew-wet grass to demonstrate for her and laughed with the memory of it.

On the coast, looking out toward Ireland, he told her stories no one else remembered of the things that had once happened there.

To Stonehenge for the requisite visit during the summer solstice and they sat, invisible to all, side by side atop one of the great standing stones, their fingers entwined and Loki silent. The stones themselves could tell their story without his help.

Here and there, they traveled over all of England on what might be termed a "proper roadtrip" and yet, when he returned her to her parents glowing and smiling and full of memories, he still managed to be "that nice young man" and get her home by eleven.




He took everyone there, eventually, if they knew him long enough. So of course he took Hermione. And it was a good place to show, Tahiti, with the secluded beach he'd somehow endeavored to always find and its sugar white sand. With the scent of tropical blossoms wafting on the warm breeze and the sea rushing against the shore.

It was a good place, and an enchanting one and he smiled to see her smile and laughed when he pulled her with him to dance among the waves.




He couldn't always be kind. It wasn't in his nature. And with a careless word from her when he was already in a fould mood, it didn't take much for him to grab her roughly by the arm and pull her with him to a dark, dank cave in which sat three rough stones bearing dark stains of old blood.

He pushed her toward the rocks and sneered, "couldn't have been so difficult to bear? Try again."

He shouldn't have had to describe what had happened there, the bloodstains should have spoken for themselves and if they didn't? She could hardly be called clever. So once she'd had her fill -- which was a very short time indeed -- he dropped her back in her room and disappeared.

He didn't return for a very long time after that, no matter how much she called for him.




When he did, finally, return he said not a word about their last meeting. He said little at all, except that he had something to show her and soon enough they were standing among throngs of people in the town of Caltagirone on the island of Sicily, all waiting for...something.

When she asked, he merely shushed her and pointed toward the town's famous staircase where a glow was beginning. Slowly the glow spread as people walked along and lit the luminaries left all along it and a picture formed.

He slipped an arm about her shoulders, it was an apology, of sorts.
cunningas: (adrien: you're not listening)
She was cute and adorable and quite possibly completely wrapped around his finger. And staring into his eyes, quite possibly waiting for him to kiss her. Or more.

But that would be Wrong. Or, more to the point, that would be Too Soon. She'd either hate him in the morning or be far too attached in ways he didn't really want to deal with which would lead to her hating him in the end anyway. So he didn't kiss her, but he brushed her cheek with his fingertips and he smiled and asked, "have you ever been to a masquerade ball?"




Loki pushed Hermes off the side of the bed so the other god landed in a tangle of limbs and sheets on the floor. "To be honest, Hermes," drawled the Norse trickster, "I think I've got a headache tonight."




He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone. And she was right there beside him.

But she was also sweet and innocent and very determined that these things be done in the Right Fashion and therefore had made him promise to wait until they were married.

He'd promised, but that didn't make the wait any less torture.

Even if half of him wondered if she was more conniving than he'd given her credit for and had known he'd lose interest otherwise.

Women.




It wasn't by choice.

It was instead by the statue of Odin the girl kept in her bedroom.

How'd she expect him to do anything with the Old Man watching, Loki'd never know.




It was dark and the air was thick with heat and sweat from the bodies gyrating against one another in the confined space of the club. One girl had been making eyes at him all night and he certainly had been reciprocating.

Until she'd gotten close and he'd caught the scent of her perfume. It brought to mind long summer days, blue eyes, and a sense of guilt. He pushed her into the arms of some leather-clad young man and stalked out of the club.

He'd lost his appetite.
cunningas: (adrien: someone's tongue in my ear!)
[as requested by [livejournal.com profile] lt_wes_janson here.]

His groaning seemed to echo around the room and probably would have frightened away any small children who heard it and more than a few adults. Loki was lying, sprawled on the floor, arms and legs akimbo. That hadn't been one of his better ideas. And when Hermes, that bastard, cheerfully waved the last twinkie in his face all the while chirping about didn't he want just one more, Loki groaned again. "Hermes, you wave that thing in my face ever.again. and I'll cram it up your ass."




It looked delicious, golden, sweet, enticing and it was just sitting there perfectly arranged on a platter with half a dozen of its fellows waiting for someone like him to make off with them. To enjoy their spongy creamy goodness and all that that entailed.

And he would, any other time, if this time it weren't so obviously a trap.

"Hermione," Loki sighed, "I can tell you used magic on them."

[In reference to this conversation]




"Not for me, thanks."

And with those four words, all conversation around him stopped. Everyone stared. Someone put a hand to his forehead, "Loki, are you feeling quite alright?"

Inwardly, Loki grinned, always keep 'em guessing.




"That," Loki proclaimed, "is a travesty of the highest order."

"I have no idea of what you're referring to!"

"Mike, you completely destroyed them!"

"Oh no, they're really tasty, want to try one?" And there was Mike waving at the plate beside him. The plate upon which the travesty-fied twinkies rested.

"You. put. applesauce on them."

"And caramel sauce!" Mike added helpfully.

"Among other things," Loki muttered and rubbed the bridge of his nose before adding, "would you like some twinkie with your toppings?"




"I'm not that easy."

Wes just looked at Loki skeptically. He might have raised an eyebrow.

Loki merely rolled his eyes, "what you're asking for is a rather complicated sort of thing. It'll take more than twinkies."

"But you like twinkies!"

Loki grinned and added smugly, "I like scotch, too. Glennfiddich. Thirty years."
cunningas: (other: playing with fire)
[as requested by [livejournal.com profile] 21paths here.]

The creak of an old rocking chair. The smell of honeysuckle. Watching fireflies twinkle on the evening air.

Grant had been right. Port Gibson really was too beautiful to burn. For now..




He should have wanted to burn it to ash and cinder. He had, once. Wanted to.

But now as he looked upon his former home, there was only a sort of hollow ache where his rage had once been.




They'd asked for it. Idiot children, in their makeup and their costumes and playing their games. They'd asked for it and he should have given it to them. Exactly what they'd wished for. Teach them the lesson of being careful.

Instead, he taught them another lesson. Disillusionment.

He wasn't in the mood for granting wishes.




"Not even once?"

"Not even," he affirmed.

"Wow."

"Why wow?"

"I just always thought the giant butter Jesus to be just the sort of thing you'd get a kick out of burning."

"Actually, I've been considering adding a few giant pieces of toast with the Virgin Mary's face on them. And possibly syrup. Or jam."




There's an adorable little house on an adorable little street in an adorable little neighborhood in an adorable little town that Loki's never heard of.

Perhaps if he had, the urge would be there. But he hadn't. He's never even seen it.

No temptation, therefore.

But if he had seen it? That bitch'd go up in flames faster than London in 1666.
cunningas: (adrien: eff you!)
[as requested by [livejournal.com profile] rude_not_ginger here]

The scenery was quite beautiful. A bit desolate, perhaps, but no less lovely for it. Standing there on the windswept plain with nothing as far as the eye could see but this grass the faintest shade of violet -- tinged with cerulean undertones -- even Loki might admit a certain feeling of smallness.

If he'd been alone.

But there beside him stood the Doctor. Who was looking rather expectantly at him.

Loki just made a face. "Okay, maybe we did make a wrong turn at Albedis 9. But you like wandering into new places!"




The first thing someone might notice when the entered the kitchen was the small mountain of plastic wrappers piled on the counter.

But most people would probably first notice Loki cheerfully wiping a bit of cream away from another man's mouth with his thumb and then rather suggestively licking it off. "You're right," he commented, "the banana creme ones are pretty tasty."




There'd been a bit of a tussle, obviously. And the TARDIS certainly looked rather worse for wear because of it.

He'd only made an innocent little comment about catnip.

And possibly he'd waved some in front of the Doctor's nose.

All in good fun!

So maybe it was a little hard for Loki to sound completely sincere while the Doctor was sitting on him and twisting his arm. He might, actually, have been on the verge of laughter as he admitted, "you're right, you're right! It was a terrible thing of me to say!"




He'd never, actually, say it. Some things he just didn't say.

Then again, some things didn't need to be said. Were better left unsaid, anyroad.




"Say it."

"Why?"

"Because it's true!"

"That's supposed to convince me?"

"I have a sonic screwdriver and I'm not afraid to use it!"

".....sigh. Fine. You're right, you're right, I know you you're right. There. I said it. In singsong, even."

"What am I right about?"

"If you don't now, then you obviously aren'-"

"Loki!"

"....Can you hear my eyes rolling? Because they totally, totally are. And you're giving me that look again. Sonic screwdriver, not afraid, right...anyway. Yes, you're right, the Harry/Hermione ship has totally sailed. There. I said it. Happy? Hmph."

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Loki

December 2013

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