Work Text:
"Before you proceed," Loki says quickly, heart racing, before the Grandmaster can get a word in first, "might I remind you, you did say I could have anything I could take."
Grandmaster's eyes spark with amusement, but Loki knows not to take that as any indication of how this little confrontation will go.
"Now, darling, you, uh," Grandmaster admonishes. "You know this is not what I meant."
Grandmaster is in Loki's wall-mounted bed on the Statesman - entirely uninvited, mostly unexpected, and somewhat unwelcome. He lounges, as leisurely and nonchalant as Loki ever knew him to be in the near-month he spent in his bed, his throne, over his table, on his floors, up against his windows, suspended in his air, and 'competing' in his arena.
Loki acknowledges his words with a nearly-respectful dip of his chin. It's not that he doesn't respect Grandmaster - or at least his power - nor that he didn't eventually come to like him, a little. It's just that there are more important things in life, after all, than fucking constantly and avoiding all chance of judgement or consequence. Better things, also. (And bigger.)
"But it is what you said," Loki points out.
There's a long pause. For all his well-founded fear, Loki can't help but enjoy the anticipation as well. He did miss this, he must admit. He likes the horrid, treacherous, tightrope foxtrot of political negotiation.
Finally, the Grandmaster sighs. With a negligent roll of his eyes and the letting go of the leash on his amused half-smile, he says, "Oh, alright fine, you little minx. I, uh- I suppose you did catch me there, didn't you?" He gestures Loki closer. Cautiously, though certainly not as cautiously as he ought, Loki steps the rest of the way into his room, just enough for the automatic door to hiss closed behind him.
"Why don't you, uh, come on over here and take me, just one more time, and we'll- we'll call it even, hm?"
"Incredible," Grandmaster breathes into Loki's tangled hair, many enough ship's hours (and a significantly greater number of times more than just one) later that Thor has come to knock thunderously upon Loki's door and gone twice. He hasn't yet been back a third time, but Loki suspects his brother's restraint is owed only to Heimdall warning him how much he would not like it were he granted the entry he so demands. "You really are. Even- even me, I can't believe it. Incredible, just- incredible."
Grandmaster pauses, trails his fingers down Loki's chest - wet and sticky with more than just sweat. He smirks, not without what passes for camaraderie, in a man like the Grandmaster. Loki blushes preemptively, half surprised to find himself still capable of such a thing.
"The Incredible Slut," Grandmaster titles him. "I suppose it's to be expected that he's the only being that can take you."