You sit in his tent, anxiously awaiting his return. You had volunteered to come with him on this campaign, knowing it would be a long one and you didn't want him finding a camp follower to warm his bed. Battles made him extremely horny afterwards and you weren't about to let another woman enjoy that. He hadn't wanted to go at all, since the place they were defending somehow blocked his magic- he had explained it to you but all you gathered was it had to do with the geology of the world. It meant he would be as vulnerable as any other soldier on the battlefield, although he still had his grace and skill with spear and knife. Thor had practically begged him to come along and he agreed eventually. You try not to worry about him in the clash of battle, but you pace the tent and bite your nails all the same.
There is the sound of shifting fabric and you turn towards the flap of the tent. No one is there and you make a face in disappointment. The tent is dark, only lit by a brazier in the center, and you are surrounded by constantly shifting shadows. As you turn away from the flap, you suddenly freeze.
He steps out from the shadows slowly, the light sliding over the harsh planes of his face. He is nothing but muscle and sinew now- unable to use his magic, he's gotten much stronger, hard muscles rippling under his new armor. He is still lean, but fierce, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut and his jaw often clenched in anger.
You jump back when he appears, startled, and a small smirk shows on his face as he approaches. You take in his whole body, checking him over for obvious injury. He is so tall and his new armor highlights that. Tight leather pants hug his legs, molding to his hard thighs. No extra fabric to catch or snag in battle. His torso is covered by a flexible, segmented breastplate that originally had gold tracery decorating it but it has long since worn off, fitting over a snug shirt. He has rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, which would reveal strong forearms in which you swear you can see every tendon, if weren't for the bracers he wore, ending in half-fingered leather gloves. He is stunning in an entirely different way than when he wears his robes or even his ceremonial armor. Raw. Primal. Dominant.
Loki looks you up and down as you do him. When he raises his gaze back to yours, his eyes are hard and full of fire. There is no mischief, no gentleness in him tonight and warmth spreads through your body at the thought of what he might do to sate his needs.
"Undress me," he growls.
You close the few remaining feet between you, reaching up to untie the green scarf that keeps the armor from chafing his neck. You run your fingers gently over his throat, blowing cool breath across the damp revealed skin until his jaw clenches. You touch the buckles of his breastplate next. They are caked with grime and blood and your fingers slip as you try to pull apart the buckles. After two such fumbles, he grabs your wrist, yanking you closer.
"I said, undress me. Hurry up about it. I am not in a patient mood." He looks down on you, his eyes flashing with anger and then lust as he looks at your cleavage. He releases your wrist with a flinging motion. "If you are incapable, I'm sure I can find someone else..."
You shake your head quickly. "Forgive me, my prince, the buckles are a little stiff- but I will hurry," you finish in a rush as you see him grit his teeth. You return to the buckles, digging at them with your fingernails until you can get them undone. You can hear his breath heavy above you and you're sure he's watching you like a hawk, but you are focused on your task. Once the last buckle falls free, your fingertips smarting from prying at them, you carefully remove the breastplate and place it on the desk to be tended to later.
You return to him, unfastening his bracers and putting them next to the breastplate. His fists clench briefly, showing off the taut muscles in his arms as you reach out for his hand to remove the gloves.
