Valkyrie's Lackey

Chapter Two: Tricking The Trickster

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! What am I doing?...

That was the one question that repeatedly swam around amidst the cuss-word, liquor-fuzz in Valkyrie's mind.

What in the name of Sakaaran-buggery, am I doing??

And indeed, what the actual fuck was she doing? That was a valid question. How had this situation escalated so quickly? And when had it turned so potent?
More importantly, what deep shit had she gotten herself into now, was there any way out of it, and if there was...did she want out?

It was all exceedingly perplexing.
And yes, admittedly a tad worrying.

She pondered this over and over, even as she moved in a frenzy, becoming a tornado of hands and arms as she hastily and effectively removed most of the trickster God's attire.
Amidst all the desperate grasping and clutching, his cape was torn off with a frantic rip and tug, and his black leather tunic was forcibly peeled over his head and flung into a far corner of the room.

Not once did he voice any objection - nor was he likely to - that was until she clambered to her feet, far less gracefully than she would've liked, but that was hardly surprising given what she'd drank...it often impaired her motor skills so that they struggled to keep up with her thought process, and as she rose unsteadily, she grabbed fistfuls of his luscious hair, hoisting him to stand.

"Ow! Take it easy. Shit!" He hissed through clenched teeth, "Watch the hair, tiger. I'm not overly fond of anyone touching it."

"Shut up, lackey!" She loosened her grip, but only to swiftly smack him around the back of the head with her open hand. "Are you really so much of a princess that having your hair pulled makes you whine like a little bitch?"

"Yes!" He admitted with disarming honesty. "Especially if said hair-pulling involves having it wrenched out at the root by a drunken, heavy handed--"

"Ah, ah...don't get personal." She warned, waggling a disproving finger in his comically bemused face. "Those are harsh words for such a pretty mouth, so I suggest you keep it shut, and get on with the task at hand."

Loki looked at her, suitably mystified. "Which is....what exactly?"

She stepped back away from him now, calculatedly so, in order to survey him fully, in the hopes of heightening his humiliation and make him squirm beneath her scrutiny as she gave him his first command.
"I want you to strip for me, lackey."

Loki stared hard at her with a daunting shade of sexual defiance. His mild irritation seemed to escalate further as she retrieved the bottle of ale she'd set aside earlier and proceeded to take lazy swigs of it, as she stood with her arms folded, looking almost bored.

But a sudden look of mischievousness made her uneasy, as he cunningly and silently accepted the challenge.
"As you wish." He crooned, his velvety voice dripping with seduction, his eyes of iciest blue now bearing a distinctive, come-hither invitation.

Whatever she had hoped to gain by feigning disinterest, severely backfired as he shot her a foxy half-smile, the tip of his tongue peeping out slyly from his sensual pout, as he removed his boots, then began unbuckling his leather trousers.

The unseen battle that raged within her, would have gone undetected to the untrained eye, but Loki was infuriatingly intelligent and perceptive, and she was convinced he knew the effect his impressive physique and overtly sexual mannerisms were having on her, in spite of her unfazed expression. She didn't want him to know. She couldn't let him know what he was doing to her.

But sweet, holy fuck...

He was hot.

Far hotter than she had anticipated, which caught her completely off guard.