Pushing Buttons

The Flames of Jealousy

He took more time than necessary in Vanaheim.

Then again, it was the only distraction Heimdall had at the moment. So long as he could take his mind off of her, he could keep a level head.

Under normal circumstances, he would've simply done what was asked of him and nothing more—grabbed what the All-Father had wanted and returned to Asgard post haste.

Angering Sköll and Hati wasn't something he had planned originally, but a fight with the giant wolves allowed him to embrace the thrill of the fight, prolonging the inevitable just a bit longer.

He took delight in messing with the little half-breed even more than usual. Every poke and prod at the runt's failure and disastrous unleashing of Garm kept the rising flames within him to a steady simmer.

"Take some Einherjar and go back to Vanaheim," Odin had ordered once Loki had left with his tail between his legs, "I want you to take that lovesick and delirious fool that they call a leader hostage."

That had piqued his interest. As much as he hated the humid jungle that the Vanir called home, he couldn't resist the smirk that pulled at his lips. Undoubtedly a reward in the eyes of his father for retrieving the moon.

"Now I want him kept alive," The All-Father stressed, "Once that...brute of a god and my dear ex find out he's been taken well," He chuckled, "I'll let you do the honors of making sure they cause no further problems."

He was practically grinning ear to ear. "Of course, All-Father."

He didn't waste any time. With Gulltoppr and a legion of disposable Einherjar, he led the assault. He allowed the mindless soldiers to run havoc, sating their bloodlust by killing any form of fauna that their little black hearts desired.

It was only once the other members of Freyr's battalion were occupied that the Aesir stepped in, pacing along the demolished campsite and approaching the fertility god himself. "Sizzles! Long time no see!"

Despite having nothing more than a dagger and a bit of Vanir magic to defend himself, the god had managed to send a number of growling Einherjar back to Valhalla, with only a few scratches to show from the overwhelming fight. He looked up, glaring at his sworn enemy. "Heimdick," He greeted right back.

His face twitched at the nickname, though the flashing smile that found its way into his face was nothing short of taunting and menacing. "Still the ever loving charmer, I see."

He arched a single dark brow, though he was all too eager to keep the insults rolling. "Still Odin's bitch, I see."

Heimdall drew his sword, twirling the golden weapon in his hands. One quick glance into that carefree and flirtatious head and he was quickly looking away. "Ugh, have you no modesty or shame? Filth."

Freyr shrugged, "I'd take pleasure in slicing open your neck with this knife," He flipped the blade in his hand, fingers curling around it tightly, "Or shoving it straight up your ass." With a quick swipe of his hand, a slew of vines emerged from the ground.

Heimdall dodged the plant life conjured by Vanir magic, having seen the plan form in the flirtatious god's head before he had so much as even flinched. "Tut, tut," He chided, "Are you really that dense? At least try to put up a good fight!" In a blink he had lunged at the fertility god, sword drawn for a wide swing.

Freyr dodged the blow, and so the game of cat and mouse began. Every smack, every kick and scratch Heimdall landed on the dashing pick, somehow both stoked and ebbed away the burning flames beneath the surface. Asserting his superiority, flaunting his control of the bifrost, and taunting the fertility god at every chance he got, he almost didn't want it to end.