Giftless

Chapter 11

"Loki, this isn't mischief, or fun," you complained after a few hours of dagger and hand to hand combat lessons in one of the training rooms. You swore it was hours of training. You didn't do training. You read and did homework and were a nerd. That was it. You didn't sweat or exercise or do things. You swore Loki was trying to kill you.

"Not yet, it's not," he agreed with a chuckle. "You fail to see the long term fun here, darling." You fwumped down on the mats, exhausted, and guzzled the water that appeared next to you. You weren't sure you remembered how to move. Or think. Or breathe. You wanted to pass out and die. That might help you breathe. Or at least you wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

"And what... long term.. fun.. is that?" you asked him panting as you tried desperately to breathe. Why was breathing so difficult? That was one physical activity you could usually do without trouble. Usually.

"No one knows that I am teaching you, besides that uncle of yours, who is only aware that I showed you a party trick. Imagine Director Fury's surprise the next time you play victim for him, when you can actually defend yourself," Loki cooed, trying to entice you into continuing to train with him. "Besides, this is the only mischief I am willing to let you try to get away with, with your freedom on the line," he reminded you that you were very much grounded.

"This isn't mischief," you grumbled at him.

He laughed. "It got you to practice," he replied with a smirk. It had all been a trick to make you train. Annoying god.

"Trickster," you grumbled again, making him laugh even harder.

He finally stopped laughing and offered you a hand to help you back up. You let him haul you back to your feet. You were sure you didn't help him at all in that endeavor. Your limbs felt like limp noodles.

"One more round, my darling. You need to practice to be able to hold your own against ... supers," he reminded you, trying out the new word. He didn't seem to much like it and nearly spat it out.

"No more rounds," you groaned. Your limbs already felt like jelly. You wanted to lie down in your bed and never get up again. That was reasonable, right?

"Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," he suggested, his voice a purr. You looked up, interested despite your exhaustion.

"What kind of arrangement?" you asked warily, rising to the bait as you were too curious for your own good. You should've known better.

He smiled, clearly pleased you were taking the bait. "One more round and I will give you a massage, help you ease those sore muscles," he offered, his voice enticing.

That sounded lovely. You could lie in one spot while he rubbed your sore muscles. "Fine," you moaned, it really was a very tempting offer.

You took your stance and the sparring match began again. You somehow made it another round and a half before you were so tired that you were making stupid mistakes and nearly got yourself impaled. Loki vanished the dagger just in time to avoid killing you, for which you were eternally grateful. He vanished your dagger as well, just to be safe. You looked up at him with a mix of battle haze and exhaustion, your hands automatically forming fists as you raised them to protect myself. He'd at least drilled that into your head.

"Enough, love, that is enough," he held his hands up in surrender. It was then that you could finally relax, finally lower your guard, finally accept that the sparring was over. "You did well," he told you and you heard the pride in his voice. He wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you back to your room. Or at least he started to. You only took a couple of steps before he teleported the pair of you to your bedroom. "Go shower, then I will give you that massage I promised," he pushed you gently towards the bathroom.