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Nú Brennur Tú I Mer	By : Gwyndolynelizabeth Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Thor Views: 3663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from this story, or from the Thor/Avengers fandom. it is all owned by Marvel and I am not making any money off of writing or publishing this story.

Chapter List
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The image of the sun--as it was seen through his eyes--was on fire, ablaze, low on the horizon, turning the once blue sky into a portrait of flame; colors of the sunset--red, orange, and lilac--danced atop the horizon line, mirrored in the ocean. The evening was warm, and the air was thick. Although there was a certain humility which befell Loki when the sun shone bright in its heaven of cloud and sky, he much preferred the night time, when the moon shone, for then he could look upon it and feel not humbled, but beautiful. Thor and Odin were men of fire, of garish valiance and roaring mirth, not of magic and secrets, or whispers and silver tongues.
Loki stood alone, watching the sun fall to sleep beneath the sea. He was surrounded by a meadow, and the palace of his father was in the distance, behind him--a small gathering of trees blocked sight of the mountain's edge, and birds sang in their leaves. He smelled a sweet scent upon a whisper of a breeze, which teased the midnight strands of hair near his jaw, and he breathed deep the scent that came not from the palace and the deserts that were gracing the banquet table that hour, but from the grove of trees before him. What scent was that? His pale brow furrowed as he considered what it could be.
'Flowers,' He thought to himself, but if it was the smell of flowers, he did not know which blossoms could smell so sweetly. Such fragrance was otherworldly, trickling down the back of Loki's throat like soup made of every fruit and flower known to any of the realms of Asgard.
He heard sounds of merry making erupt from a window opened in his father's palace, and Loki peered over his shoulder to see if he was being watched. He saw no one. He looked once more to the wooded grove ahead of him and decided to see if he could discover what it was that enticed his sense of smell so keenly. The way was easy, and the grass was washed with the last rays of golden sunlight--birds flew from the tree tops as if startled. Loki peered through the silver trunks of ash trees, knowing that he had heard a voice, and that he sensed a presence. He hid himself, for he was a master of such skill, and waited to ensure his senses were correct. There was no sound but the breeze in the wind and the songs of birds, but a lonely wisp of sweet, flowery perfume wafted past him where he hid and kept him rooted to his hiding spot. His eyes watched faithfully the bubbling waters of a spring, straining to see someone he knew was there. He did not blink, nor did his gaze falter.
Movement in the trees on the opposite bank of the spring caught his attention and his eyes flew to the shadowy shape of a figure emerging from the bushes and bracken. What he saw was no fellow Asgardian, but something he had only heard tales of from his mother's lips as a child. A woman clad in the finest silk and brocade came forth from the tree line, and as dying sunlight struck her figure, she seemed to be set aflame, so adorned was she in gold and jewels. Loki waited, watching as the woman approached the spring, dipping her palm into the crystal waters and drinking from them. Her lips glistened like rubies and her lashes, dark and heavy, veiled her downcast eyes. Loki wondered briefly if the woman had seen him when she walked to the spring, and realized that he had never before doubted his skill of becoming practically invisible when he needed to be.
The woman looked up to the sky, still knelt by the bubbling spring, and was totally still, as if she was waiting for the sun to set farther. Loki waited with her, glancing up to the sky from time to time to see how much longer they needed to wait until the night came. He scoffed inwardly that he was hiding at all, or waiting at all, like some curious child about to do something he had been forbidden to do. If the woman by the spring had been any normal woman he would not have hidden, but she was not of Asgard, and silently, with no acknowledgment of his presence, she bade him hide from sight. It seemed like hours until the last rays of sunlight disappeared and the trees of the ash grove were consumed by the blackness of night, with the silver light of the moon rising like a misty veil over the grass and trees.
Loki watched as the woman rose to her feet, finally, and loosed her hair. As the breeze caught her tresses, it carried to Loki the smell of sweet flowers that had led him to the ash grove in the first place, but there was no moonlight glistening amid the strands of her hair--it was blacker than midnight. Loki watched as a feeling in his chest grew, telling him that he was about to see things he should not see, but a proud grin only curved the edges of his lips and his eyes waited hungrily for all that he anticipated to come.
She lifted from her chest golden chains and necklaces, so many that they rang like a chorus of bells, and tossed them to the ground carelessly, where they lay in a pile like treasure. Loki's grin only grew, and he shifted in his hiding place to see through the branches and leaves easier.
She removed the golden belt from her waist, and the rings and bracelets from her arms, and bent forward to remove her golden slippers. But when she bent forward, her body arched in the most perfect shape, starlight catching the sheen of her silken gown, dancing on the grass around her feet, and her hair fell like a curtain around her. Her white foot was small and delicate. When she straightened, her hair tossed back, falling over her shoulders and dancing in the breeze, a thick, matted nest of curls. Her face turned toward Loki where he hid, but he did not think that she saw him. She reached her silken clad arm behind her and milky fingers pulled at the toggles of her outer gown. Loki's interest began to peak, and he sighed quietly, only faintly rustling the leaves barring him from her sight, as he waited anxiously for her to finish with the fastenings of her dress.
Should he go to her and unfasten them for her?
She turned away, and the back of her gown came open, revealing yet another layer of cloth beneath it. Silk fell in a myriad of colors around her feet, disclosing a white chemise, under garment, yards of thin cloth draped around her luscious form, a garment Loki knew no decent woman would want to be wearing while spied upon. She thought she was alone, he knew, and he reveled in thoughts of how surprised she would be to find a prince of Asgard watching her undress. He licked his lips at the deliciousness of her oblivion, an ignorance that made her show sickeningly delightful.
Moonlight fell upon her, and she was shrouded in silver light--it pervaded the flimsy cloth of her chemise and made it all but disappear until it seemed that she was clothed in nothing but moon and star light, a spirit of light.
Loki strained where he hid to see better the entity but ten yards from him, for he knew that she fancied a swim, and when she stepped into the water and waded unto her knees, he decided what had to be done. He left his hiding spot, but did not yet reveal his presence to the strange woman. Instead, he strode as quietly as he could through the trees, moving like a shadow cast by dancing leaves against the light of the moon until he came to the place from which the woman had emerged from the tree line. Her back was to him, so he thought that he might trick her. She had done nothing to him besides appear like an angel. He wanted to speak to her, to touch her, to captivate she who he knew was neither mortal nor immortal, and, damn it, he was going to do so.
He stepped into the open, making no sound as he tread to where the woman's clothes lay in a heap in the grass. He reached down and bundled the fabric in his arms. Then, he said with a mischievous grin, in his clearest, smoothest voice: "Brava, lady, Brava! Such a sight as you I have not seen with my own eyes until this night, but I would tender to touch you before I return to my bed..."
As he spoke, the woman in the water turned quickly around to face him, and the face that looked upon him set Loki's troubled heart beating quick in his chest. She was fairer than starlight, but her bright eyes were teary with shock and anger at Loki's intrusion--her shoulders trembled and she stepped back quickly, falling backward through the water. Loki chuckled and revealed her gown, held captive in his arms. "This is yours, I believe?" He grinned. "Pray, let me show you a magic trick."
Before the woman could protest, and with but a wave of his hand, the gown vanished from Loki's arms and out of all sight.
The woman covered her mouth to stifle a scream of either shock or fury, and struggled to regain her foothold in the water. "What are you doing spying upon my bathing, prince?" She gasped.
"You know who I am, then?" Glorious. She was like a girl child about to weep after her doll or comb had been stolen.
She nodded, her chin trembling.
"Who am I?" He pressed, smirking.
"You are Loki, son of the house of Odin." Wide eyes of deep sea blue blinked, and sought his eyes, capturing it, and she looked into his heart. “You should return home, prince…” She whispered, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I do naught but swim and bathe, I will mind only what business is mine, and then I will leave this place. You should return home.”
Loki blinked to break the hold her gaze had cast upon him and felt his arms and legs shudder. She was swaying from one side to the other in the water, it was up unto her waist, and her eyes moved over his form as if with a brief thought, but she said nothing more that moment. “I cannot return, not now.” Loki said lowly, his imagination wandering to what he thought her body looked like beneath her chemise, fabric that would be soaking wet unto her waist, and how it would cling to the flesh of her lower half. “I told you,” He murmured, “I would tender a touch before I go anywhere, whether it be from me or from you.” And stepped to the edge of the spring, holding out his hand. “Come out of the water now, lady.” His fingers beckoned toward her.
The woman was hesitant, but he saw resignation cross her face and he felt victory in his breast. She reached her hand toward his and moved through the water to him. Why would he feel such victory over this one woman’s resignation to spend time with him? Had she been any other woman he would not have felt at all the same—he would have taken what he wanted and never tried to win her over with his silver tongue. Her hand took his, and it was warm, fingers wrapping around his palm. They were small fingers, and she wore a thin gold bracelet on her delicate wrist. He wanted to lift the warm, milky skin of her wrist to his lips, but he did not. Her eyes were searching for his again; he could feel them upon his face. He lifted his eyes to her face as he pulled her out of the water, and drew her near to him. ‘Finally…’ He thought to himself, but said nothing for a moment. Her eyes were fearful.
“Shhh…” He whispered, leading her to a great oak tree that grew near the spring. She followed with her hand in his, and though her face showed hesitance, she did not pull away from his grasp. When they were beneath the boughs of the oak tree, he pulled her closer to him and let his hands fall to her waist, covered only by the wet, transparent cloth of her chemise. He felt warmth grow in his stomach when he touched her and his heart once more began to beat faster in his chest, his eyes falling from her face to the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. When his hands wandered from her waist to her shoulders, running his fingers in delicate patterns over the fabric barring him from the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, she began to tremble. From her chin to her knees, she began to shake, and she cast her eyes to the ground. “You have touched me, prince….” Her voice was like wine for Loki’s ears, musical and not akin to any woman’s voice he had ever heard. “Where are you from?”
“Prince, I pray you—“She began in resistance to his question, but Loki held his finger to his lips, and she looked into his eyes.
“Shhh…” He whispered once more, “Where are you from?” and the woman blinked, a tear rolling down porcelain skin, and he imagined that it was hot, and the corners of his mouth curled in a smile.
“I am from a place very far away.” She answered finally.
“Far away?” He continued. “You must be, for I have not seen your kind with my own eyes until tonight. I covet to taste your skin at my lips…”
“A kiss?” Her voice was faint.
Loki chuckled, and took her trembling chin in his fingers, turning her fair face to lengthen her pale neck. She exhaled—a sweet, meek sound. “A kiss…” He whispered, and brought his lips to the crook of her neck. The warmth of her skin ignited a fire within him, and the sound of a second exhalation from her lips, accompanied by a shy whimper of pleasure, sent his mind into a frenzy and he could think of naught else than to take her under that oak tree. While he kissed and sucked the flesh of her slender neck, he turned her to press her back against the trunk of the tree—perhaps, in his haste, he was a little rough, for she gasped, and the tree shuddered, but he cared not.

She was small in stature, coming no higher than to his chest, but he bent to accommodate the difference between their heights, sucking and licking at the base of her neck where he knew the skin was its most tender. His hand kept her face turned, and the other began to drop from where it once rested at her shoulder, to the curve of her arm at her side, to the swell of her thigh, then to the dip of her waist and rise and falling of her shrouded breasts. He felt her shake beneath his touch and pride swelled in his chest. Grinning against her flesh, he used both hands to gather the wet cloth of her chemise and pull it slowly up and up, until he had to take a step back to lift the fabric over her shoulders. She whimpered, but complied to what he suggested, and snaked her arms out of the sleeves of her undergarment allowing him to slip the wet fabric over her head. The pitch black locks of her curly hair tumbled over her shoulders and face, framing her beauty like an ebony window, and it caused her skin to look whiter than snow, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips redder than rubies, than blood, eyes more piercing than starlight.

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The prince’s face was fair and pale like winter time, though long with hidden grief. His heart was quick beating and warm, though his face would not show such warmth. His eyes were bright as dew laden grass in spring. His hair and brow were dark like ebony, unlike the other men of Asgard, and his form was tall and slender, with graceful step and touch of hand, his mind in things other than fighting, love, and merry making. He was gentle, though he wished he was not so. He saw her peering into his heart, and looked away.
Her skin was cold in the night air, and from the cold waters of the spring still clinging to her skin. She knew what he wanted. She had to admit that he was fine, and, had she to lay with any man of that world, she would to lay with this man, for there was much to be read in the depths of his searching eyes.
“What are you looking at?” His voice was sharp, but he did not mean it to be.
“Your heart is kind…” She said, knowing not if he would accept this. “But there is great torment within your heart as well that may, in time, prove to be too great of a burden for your shoulders.”
“I am not weak.” The prince hissed, and she shook her head.

“No, prince, I do not think that you are so.” She answered quickly.

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“You are cold…” Loki grumbled as the woman stood shaking in front of him.
“I am not.” She shook her head, “Step back, prince. Do you like what you see?” and Loki stepped back, though not by her command. He wished to see the body he had unclothed, own what he could not have, touch a forbidden fruit, and ease the desire growing not only in his mind but in lower places where flesh grew hard and pulsed with blood. He sighed as his eyes drank in the sight of the woman naked, shaking, her skin glistening in the moonlight, midnight locks draped over her body. She looked wild. Was she so? Loki smirked, wondering if the magical women of children’s stories were as wild in the arms of a foreign lover as they were in their stories—in tales they rode the wind and danced from star to star in a never ending circle of merriment.
She bit her bottom lip and watched him intently, waiting. Loki fought any sign of pleasure from his expression, to keep her wondering, waiting, anticipating him, but inside he was ready to have her, to possess her wholly, that beautiful little treasure.
She was well endowed in every aspect that a man might enjoy—the curve of heavy, supple breasts led into the dip of a narrow waist and soft belly, then over the generous arc of hips and thighs. Her feet were delicate and small, and her arms and hands were soft and gentle, small. She was the perfect female specimen, Loki thought, for she was unlike every woman from his father’s kingdom. Rather than a tall, powerful Asgardian woman, she was small and feminine. She would make Loki feel like more of a powerful man, equal in prowess to his elder brother; she was deliciously sweet, quivering with innocence against the rough bark of that oak tree. Loki imagined the delicate skin of her back was scratched and pink. He chuckled to himself, grinning. Her eyes fell from his, and he saw her pale cheeks blush. He realized his desire was not well hidden beneath the fabric of his leggings, but he was not embarrassed that she saw what her body was doing to his, and he had not yet touched her naked skin!
“Prince…” She said meekly, but Loki held his finger to his lips to silence her, and she obeyed, her eyes darting from his face to the bulge in his leggings, then to his face where he hoped she could read what he planned to do with her.
Loki approached the woman once more, and took her face in his hands, gazing deep into her ghostly eyes. He pressed his body against hers—it felt so soft against him, so insignificant, and her breasts swelled against the cold leather of the jerkin her wore, against his abdomen—his knee worked its way between her legs, where he felt the warmth of her womanhood against the woolen cloth of his leggings. Her thighs quivered tantalizingly, straddling his knee. As he took the lobe of her ear in his mouth, and trailed rough, biting kisses down her neck to the tender spot he had already discolored, she gasped, a shuddering whimper escaping her parted lips, and he pressed the bulge of his desire against her belly.
He felt her hand touch him, finally, then the other; they found their place behind his neck, running their fingers through his hair, pulling gently, her eyes flashed and what Loki thought was a grin passed over her face for half a moment. She ran her hands over his shoulders, massaging his collar bones, making him shudder with pleasure, then worked their way over his sides, massaging wherever they went, until they came to his abdomen. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes shot to hers, where they were already peering into this face, and there was the grin on her lips. “May I touch you, prince?” The fingers of her right hand slithered down his abdomen as she asked her tantalizing question, but Loki stilled her hand.
“Remove this.” He gestured to his jerkin.
Her fingers worked steadily on the toggles that fastened the garment closed, and when it fell open, he shrugged out of it and let it fall to the ground, then she gathered the think fabric of his tunic in her hands and he helped her lift it over his head, casting it aside as well.
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The Prince’s chest was fair, muscled, and scarred from fighting. His skin was like snow, colder than the touch of her fingers and wherever she touched, she left white impressions, and his breath would catch as if this excited him. She sought his gaze and caught it. His eyes burned, and she saw what he wanted to do with her—again, she reasoned that it would be far better to lay with him than to lay with any other Asgardian… for she felt a bond pulling her toward him. Perhaps that was what drew him to the ashen grove, and led him to find her. He was beautiful in his own way, he was so much taller than she and his shoulders were broad and strong; his very presence was demanding, powerfully seductive, begging for her admiration. She wanted him because he wanted her to want him, but why did he want her? Was she a prize, a conquest? In all the heavens, across every pathway between the stars, she had never been a prize, nor had she ever felt such desire sweep upon her as it did with this prince. And she knew of him; he was the lord of mischief. Thoughts of mischief excited her as she traced patterns with her fingers over his pale, cold skin, running her fingers through his hair, down his back, over his arms, taking his large hands in hers.

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Her skin against his felt marvelous—though Loki had hardly ever used such a word before—but her body pressed against the tree, pinned between it and he was exciting, and he found himself smirking when the warmth of her fingers caused his skin to heat wherever they touched. ‘Touch more…’ he longed for her, to feel her beneath him, to overpower her.
Her hands took his and led them to her body. “Be still.” Loki commanded, and her arms fell to her sides; his, however, wandered over her bare skin, from her waist to the swell of her breasts. He struggled not to show on his face how the weight of her rose tipped, fleshy mounds heaving in the cup of his hands drove him to the brink of madness, but he could not help the deepening of his breath, nor the exhalation of utmost yearning from deep within him when he took a rose colored nipple in his mouth and elicited a sweet, hushed cry from the woman’s mouth. He twirled his tongue around the tender bud, sucking until it was rock hard and when between his teeth caused her to shudder and thighs to grip his knee which was still between her legs. Wet, scorching heat soaked his leggings where her womanhood rubbed against the cloth. Loki sighed, looking down at the wet patch on his leg, the bulge in his pants—rubbing against her belly at the contact of their two bodies—straining against the confines of cloth and laced cord.
“Prince…” the woman sighed, her voice shaking, but Loki covered her mouth with his hand and lifted her in his arms so he could lay her down on the ground, for he could take the anticipation no longer. But she wrapped her legs around his waist when he lifted her, and when he dropped to his knees, laying her down beneath him, her legs did not loosen their hold, and her warm, wet womanhood rubbed against his naked abdomen.
He could smell the arousal coming from her center, beckoning for him to take her, begging for pleasure, and her eyes were hooded with lust, cheeks flushed with excitement, breasts heaving and swaying to and fro as her breath came in gasps of tangible longing. She licked her lips and reached up to him, prying with her gaze into his mind, which was froth with wicked, wicked thoughts. “You want to know what I am thinking, don’t you?” He murmured, and her skin broke into goose bumps. She nodded feebly with her head, moving her center against his bare stomach languidly, obviously taken by the feeling of his skin against her secret places. He was quite taken by the sight of her beneath him, grinding against him hungrily.
“I think,” He began, reaching behind and prying her legs from around him, holding them open so he could see every nerve, every muscle quivering between the folds of her center, the wetness of her arousal shimmering in the light of the moon. “That you are ripe and ready to be taken… again and again…”
He watched her hands massage her breasts, then as one of her hands went to her womanhood, dipping her finger into herself, drawing her arousal over her pubic mound, over her belly, and over her breasts. Her eyes watched his the entire time, obviously delighted that he took such pleasure in watching her fondle herself.
Loki felt a chuckle rise deep in his throat in response to her playful teasing, and he felt himself grow hot inside as he said as menacingly and taunting as he could: “I am going to teach you not to tease…lady…”
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Nú Brennur Tú I Mer