Sensing an unwelcome presence beside you, captivating (e/c) orbs fluttered open, opting to situate their gaze on the intruder. Devilishly handsome, your tall, ebony-haired companion had recently arrived on this unruly planet, proclaiming himself to be the King of Asgard.
Deviating your attention out of unadulterated disgust, you instead resumed a prior task – indulging in one of the many men Sakaar had to offer. Snaking a tender hand up his front, pausing upon grasping his collar, you brought his face down to meet yours in a hurried but passionate kiss.
Heeding but ignoring your acquaintance's conspicuously displeased coughing, you permitted your partner's hand to glide past the thin fabric of your robe. Shuddering in anticipation, although disheartened in the knowledge that this would likely be as unfulfilling as the last, you risked a glimpse at the demon by your side.
His piercing green orbs seemed to stare straight through your person, but the glimmer of adoration rising within them generated an agonising heat at your core.
Tiring of your game, he snapped his fingers, and instantly, you found yourself standing alone in a vast expanse. The only items in range were a bed, some torches, a wardrobe, and The God of Mischief.
Sighing, you questioned, "What do you want Loki?"
"A chance to redeem myself." He replied, stalking towards you.
Backing up slightly, you remarked, "You are past redemption, Son of Odin."
His ministrations did not cease, and in seconds, he had himself positioned in front of you. Through another attempt to retreat, you realised that he had you between his body, and a solid wall.
Scoffing, you continued, "Or would it be more accurate to say 'Son of Laufey'?"
The effect was instantaneous – grabbing your neck roughly, he lifted your form off the ground, meandering over to the bed, where he threw you like an unwanted garment.
Climbing atop your fragile figure, he breathed, "I am not the Son of Laufey."
After a strangled silence, he added, "You would do well to remember that."
