Chapter Text
“So, this is Álfheim, huh?” Darcy said, looking around with an air of profound skepticism. “I have to say, Thor, when you said we were going to see the Elves, I was expecting a little bit more ‘wisest and fairest of all beings’, and a little less ‘Tra-la-la-lally’.”
“They are a merry folk,” said Thor, looking like he’d understood only one word in four but couldn’t be bothered to ask about it.
Jane chuckled into her wine, the firelight flickering off her mask, casting long shadows on her face.
“So, explain this to me again,” Darcy said.
“We have each drawn masks,” said Thor. “The men are disguised as stags, and the women as does. But one man will draw the mask of the great, white hart. Throughout the evening he will scope out the does, and choose his favourite. If he is fortunate, she will accompany him.” Thor gave a wide, knowing grin at that.
“What are the rest of the stags supposed to do?” Jane asked, leaning comfortably up against Thor’s side.
Thor let out a low chuckle. “There is no rule prohibiting them from choosing a doe, if they should so desire.”
Even through their masks, Darcy could tell they were shooting each-other looks that said alternately, ‘I love you’ and ‘I would like to take your clothes off’. She sipped her wine, staring out at the crowd of Elves and feeling more like an awkward third wheel than ever.
The Elves were, indeed, as Thor had put it, a ‘merry folk’. They were pretty much all drunk as frat boys, and seemed to have no compunction whatsoever about simply grabbing one another and swinging them around the imaginary dance floor that seemed to take up the four metre-or-so circle around the two bonfires in the centre. Darcy also noticed, as she watched two Elves wearing stag masks get their antlers tangled up, that the seemed to have no compunctions about grabbing someone of the same gender, either.
From the ring of spectators around the dance circle, two of the Elves sprang forward, with what looked like giant sparklers. They dropped one on each of the bonfires, and they went up with a bang, sending a plume of flame and smoke up high into the sky. There was a loud cheer from the crowd.
“Come!” Thor called. “We must walk between the fires.”
“Are you insane?” Darcy demanded. “They’ve gone all pillar-of-fire! I like my eyebrows un- singed and on my face, thank you very much.”
Thor just laughed loudly and slapped her on the back so hard she stumbled forwards. “It is quite safe, I assure you,” he said, taking Jane by the hand and heading towards the flames.
The Elves certainly seemed to think so. They were lining up and dashing between the two plumes of flame, sometimes alone and sometimes in groups, twirling around each other and dancing dangerously close to the fire. Darcy saw Thor give Jane a spin around before wrapping one of his huge arms around her waist and holding her close to him.
“Oh, good,” said Darcy aloud. “I’ll just go by myself, then.”
The air was stiflingly hot and close as she stepped towards the flames. A group of Elves skipped past her, singing a song that had a charming, whimsical melody and seemed to consist entirely of synonyms for genitalia. The smoke was so thick she could barely see more than a foot or two in front of her. The sound of the Elves’ laughter and song seemed to fade, until all she could hear was the crackling of the wood and the soft whispers and snaps of embers on the beaten earth.
The smoke ahead of her cleared, and she could see a figure, tall, slim and clothed in a dark robe, standing at the end of the passage. He was wearing the mask of the white hart, thought it seemed to glow almost bright red from the light of the fires. The smoke swirled around him, and it looked, from where Darcy was standing, as if the tongues of the flames were licking the tops of his antlers.
He turned, slightly, and she suddenly felt his gaze on her. She stopped, utterly heedless of the fire around her, and the smoke. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he was looking right at her. She felt his gaze travel down the length of her body, and then even more slowly back up, taking her in. His head tilted slightly to the side, and the movement cast a shadow from the snout of his mask over the bottom of his face. Then, he stepped back, fading back into the smoke.
It took nearly a minute for her to regain control of her own legs. She stumbled out of the passage, and suddenly the roar of the celebrations seemed to start back up again. She was grabbed almost at once by an over-exuberant Elf, who picked her up by the waist and swung her around three times before dropping her unceremoniously back down and grabbing someone else. She staggered away before he could think better of leaving, and leant back against a tree, panting.
She looked around, but saw no sign of the white hart anywhere. She couldn’t find Jane or Thor either. She wondered if she ought to go poking around the shrubbery to see if they’d gone to make out somewhere, but she decided that if they had, she definitely didn’t want to see it.
So, that left drinking – which was what pretty much everyone else was doing. And, hey, it was Halloween, and she was spending it at some kooky harvest festival on another planet, so why not live a little? The wine was sweet and tangy, and her cup had an odd tendency to never empty, no matter how much she drank. It was nearly impossible to go anywhere in the crowd without someone coming around with a jug to refill it, or, on one memorable occasion, drink it, kiss her soundly, if a bit sloppily, refill it and saunter off.
She couldn’t decide whether she really liked, or really hated Elves.
She was starting to get sleepy, and a bit tipsy, and was thinking about tracking Thor down to ask if she could go home, when she caught sight of a flash of white horns moving through the crowd. He was by the other bonfire, circling through the dancers – not participating, but winding his way through the couples, watching.
He turned in her direction, and she felt her mouth go dry and her pulse begin to race. He paused a moment, and was nearly run into by a dancing couple. Then, he began picking his way through the crowd towards her.
She stood, completely still, unable to move even if she’d wanted to, pinned like a butterfly under his gaze. He came to a stop in front of her, and, very slowly, placed a single, slim-fingered hand over his chest, and bowed. Then he straightened, and held out his hand to her.
She looked down at it for a moment, the small, rational part of her brain insisting that this may not be a good idea. Mild inebriation won out, however, and she placed her hand in his.
It was surprisingly warm, and his fingers tightened around hers instantly. He gave her a tug, and she stumbled forwards into his chest. She felt the fingers of his other hand tangle in her hair, running over her scalp and trailing down the nape of her neck. She shivered, the sensation travelling straight to between her legs.
He smelt like smoke and cedar, and the smell of fresh, crisp snow on a cold, clear winter day. She inhaled deeply, too caught up in the moment, and having drunk too much wine, to care about silly things like dignity. Not when there was the offer of potentially the best sex of her life on the table.
He kept his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers dipping under the neckline of her shirt and trailing over her upper back.
He led her away from the fires, and the laughter, into a quiet grove. The stars were bright – brighter than Darcy had ever seen them at home, even in the desert, and they cast everything in a pale light. He knelt down before her, letting his fingers trail slowly down her body as he did so, coming to rest on her hips. Even kneeling he was ridiculously tall, his head came up to just past her shoulder, and the horns made him seem even taller. She reached forward to take his mask off, but he stopped her hand, holding her arm by the wrist.
“Not yet,” he said. His voice was low and smooth, and she couldn’t help but shiver. “It is not yet time.”
He released her wrist, each finger uncurling slowly, and she let it fall by her side. He slipped his fingers under the hem of her shirt, and then lifted it. She raised her arms, and he managed to pull it over her head, keeping her mask in place. He traced the strap of her bra, and then along the top of the cup until he reached the valley between her breasts, and then he went back up again. He seemed more inquisitive than anything else – Darcy supposed the Elves probably didn’t have bras, at least not of the same make – but it raised goosebumps on her skin nonetheless. He hooked a finger under the strap and pulled it up, releasing it with a snap.
“It unbuckles at the back,” said Darcy. “Here, let me –”
He brushed her hands away, rising to his feet and circling around to look at her from behind. She felt his hands brush her hair aside, and then trail down her shoulder-blades to the clasp of her bra. She felt him tug it once, almost experimentally, before the clasp released. He slid the straps down her arms, pressing himself up against her back as he did so and running his hands down her arms until he reached the end. He interlaced their fingers together.
She felt the wood of his mask against her cheek, and he placed a feather-light kiss on her shoulder. Then, without warning, he spun her around until she was facing him. He took her breast in his hand, covering her nipple with his thumb and tracing slow, lazy circles around it. She could just barely see his eyes through the mask, glittering with mischief, and the corner of his lip turned up in a smirk.
She reached out and slid her hands under his outer jacket, and pulled it off him. She made quick work of his jerkin and tunic as well. He was thin, with the build of a swimmer – muscled, but not buff. It wasn’t her usual type, to be honest, but there was something positively magentic about him, and she wasn’t stuck up enough to say no when a good offer was put down in front of her.
He’d moved down to her pants, undoing the clasp and the zip, and then kneeling down in front of her as he slowly slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them, more awkwardly than she would have liked (curse you, skinny jeans!), but the feel of his hands on her calves more than made up for it. His hands drifted up her thighs, thumbs along the inner side, and stopped, teasingly, at the apex where they met. Slowly and deliberately, he ran his thumb along the line of her panties, and her legs almost bucked. He chuckled, low and baritone, and ran his thumb back down and pressed it, unmoving, on her clit.
Instinctively, she reached down and tangled her hand in his hair, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. He seemed to be waiting, still, for a moment, and then he tugged her panties down and pulled them sideways with enough force that they tore.
Almost at the exact same moment, a great cry went up from the bonfires, and she heard cheering. “Midnight,” the white hart said. “It is time. Take off your mask. I want to see your face.”
Her fingers were shaking as she undid the tie at the back of her head that held the mask on. She let it drop to the ground, and she heard a sharp intake of breath from the hart.
“What?” she asked, worriedly. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, after a moment. He reached up and slowly undid the ties on his own mask, and let it fall.
Darcy scrambled back, grabbing her shirt and clutching it over herself as best she could. “Loki.”
He sat back on his heels, watching her with a curiously open expression. He shifted his weight, and she could see the shape of his erection outlined where it strained against his trousers. He followed the line of her gaze, and gave a faint half-smile.
“I have chosen you,” he said, “in the time-honoured custom of Álfheim. I stand by that choice. I am yours for the taking, if you will have me.”
Darcy stared at him in astonishment. “You tried to take over my world. Why on Earth would I sleep with you?”
“Well, for starters,” said Loki, “we are not on Earth. Secondly, I have made reparations to your people – such as they are, and I bear no ill will against you. And thirdly, because you want to.”
Darcy swallowed.
“The meeting of the doe and the hart happens only for one night,” said Loki. “After tonight we go our separate ways – but I can ensure that it is a night you will never forget.”
It didn’t take much imagination to conjure up precisely what that might entail. It was tempting – horribly tempting – like the crown jewel in all of Darcy’s long history of bad-decisions-made-while-inebriated.
“One night?” Darcy asked, hesitantly.
Loki’s smile made it clear that he knew he’d won. “One night,” he echoed.
She nodded, and took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He rolled forward in a fluid motion that nearly made her mouth water, and reached towards her, plucking the shirt out of her hands. Her arm went unconsciously to cover her breasts, and he grabbed her wrist. He was surprisingly gentle as he pulled her hand aside. “You have nothing to feel ashamed of,” he said. “Least of all tonight.”
He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, and scooted forwards, pushing her legs apart with his knees, until he was kneeling between her legs and leaning over her. He trailed kisses down her chest, before taking one nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over the head of it. She grabbed the back of his head, and hooked her legs around the back of his thighs, pulling him closer.
He continued moving downwards, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her belly button, before slipping his arms under her legs and pulling them up, until they rested comfortably over his shoulders. He looked up at her, as if waiting for confirmation, his expression surprisingly kind.
She nodded slightly, biting her lip. He grinned widely, and then bent down and flicked his tongue over her clit. She jerked upwards, and he reached out to place a firm hand over her hipbone, holding her down. He was slow, meticulous and exploratory. He’d gauge her responses surprisingly effectively, focusing on the things that made her body jerk and her hips lilt upwards, until she had to cover her mouth with her hand to muffle her moans. Slowly he slipped one long, slim finger into her, and curled it back towards him in just the right place. She arched her back, digging her heels into his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer.
She was so, sosososo close, his tongue alternating flicking and swirling over her clit, his fingers working inside her, moving faster and faster. She felt every nerve, every muscle in her body clenched in anticipation, winding her tighter and tighter around his fingers and his tongue, and she just needed it that little bit faster and right there – and suddenly she came apart, shuddering and shivering.
Loki sat back, pulling his fingers out of her slowly. He held them up, rubbing them experimentally with his thumb, before he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean.
Darcy promptly died, resuscitated, and died again.
He was watching her, waiting for her to indicate the next move. She sat up, still shaky, loose- limbed and content, and pushed him down onto his back. His hair splayed out around him like a dark halo, and the stars reflected in his eyes. She straddled him, planting and hand on either side of his head and looking down at him. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder and brushed against his cheek, but he remained utterly motionless.
She could feel his erection through his trousers, pressing up against her. Slowly she rocked forwards and back, and his eyes flickered shut and his lips parted slightly. She smirked, rolling forwards and back a little more firmly. His hips tilted up to meet her, and his eyes opened, his pupils wide and dark as he watched her.
She crawled down his body, undoing the fastenings of his trousers and pulling them off as she went, before coming back up to straddle his thighs. He rose up onto his elbows, leaning back and watching her.
She wrapped a hand firmly around his cock, running her thumb over the head before stroking him once, twice. He swallowed, and she saw his adam’s apple bob.
He looked astonishingly vulnerable. His eyes were wide and cautious, and the starlight made him look young. His brows were drawn up slightly, and she could see his chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathed. On impulse, she leant forward and kissed him, cradling his cheek with her hand.
When she pulled back, he looked startled. They stayed like that for a moment, just looking at each other, until Darcy felt his cock twitch in her hand.
She rose up onto her knees, aligning herself over him, and then sunk down onto him, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. His eyes shut and his head fell back, and she gave her inner muscles an experimental squeeze. He groaned, low and sultry, and that was all the incentive she needed to wrap her arms over his shoulders and start moving.
He bent his knees and sat up, wrapping one arm tight around her waist to hold her to him and using the other to brace himself, and his head dropped forward as he pressed his nose to the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. His hips were canting upwards erratically, and all she could do was just wrap her arms around him and hold on tight.
He came apart, shuddering, with a gasp. She wouldn’t have heard it at all if his face hadn’t been pressed against her neck – as it was, she felt his exhalation against her skin. He clung to her, his hand tight around her waist for a long moment, and they stayed there, shivering together, under the light of Álfheim’s stars.
She felt him press a kiss against her collarbone again – it had an odd sort of symmetry to it – before he sat back, gently, but firmly, pushing her off him. He rose, a bit unsteadily, and gathered his clothes, dressing in a perfunctory fashion. Feeling oddly numb, Darcy followed suit.
When she was dressed, he bent down and picked up her mask, examining it for a moment, before reaching out and handing it to her. She took it, and his hand darted out to grab her wrist. He looked at her, an inscrutable expression his face, and she felt his fingers move in a gentle, oddly intimate, caress along the inside of her wrist.
Then, he let go, and stepped back. He inclined his head towards her, and said, “may the wealth of your harvest be great.”
Before she could come up with a reply, he had turned and was gone, leaving her alone.