Work Text:
“ Stop. I’ve been where you are. I’ve felt what you feel. Don’t ask me how I know - all I know is I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want a throne, ” he pleaded as he felt the dagger in her grip shift just a little against his neck. The fury in her eyes softened but she held on, and as she did, she broke his heart for the millionth time. And, he realised, he would let her break his heart again, and again, and again, as long as she was close enough to protect. She didn’t need protecting, she was strong, but he just couldn’t help the urge to keep her safe that overwhelmed him every time he got lost in her ice blue eyes. “I just… I just want you to be okay.” He was terrified of the words tumbling out of his mouth, he was Loki after all, a Prince of Asgard, such puny confessions were in human’s nature, not his. He was a God, one of the Aesir, he didn’t beg, he didn’t plead - he hurt and killed on his way to power. The whole illusion of his glorious purpose to rule and command crumpled under the unwavering gaze of another version of him, from a different world and different timeline yet broken and tired just the same.
He could help her. She could help him.
They could rule over the timeline together. Keep humanity safe. Be heroes.
Who would be better at keeping monsters at bay than two monsters themselves - liars and tricksters. They could make it work and benefit from it too.
He didn’t want the throne anymore but if he could rule with her by his side, he would. But if he had to choose between the throne and her? He would choose her, he realised, and he would let her break his heart again.
What happened to him? What happened to that Loki who stole the Tesseract, who was ready to burn and destroy only for his gain?
There was no mischief left in him as he stared in her blue eyes, begging, pleading to do the right thing, for once in both their lifetimes. He changed, he was not the trickster anymore, not with her. He wouldn’t trick her, he couldn’t. But he could still rule, with her.
Stay with me. Rule with me. We can make it right.
And then she kissed him.
Just like that he was swept by a tidal wave of desire and affection. He forgot about the lies and trickery, he forgot about mischief. She tasted like the ice from Jotunheim, like the fresh breeze of Fólkvangr, like the gold and riches that surrounded Asgard, and like the despair that ruled Midgard.
With her lips pressed against his, he almost forgot they were not alone. They still had a job to do, they still had their glorious purpose. He pulled away from her, only to see the fire in her gaze.
“We can rule together,” he whispered. “We can fix it. Maybe there’s more to being a Loki, maybe this time we can win.”
He Who Remains clapped his hands. “Is it decided then?”
“Do you trust me?” he whispered and he realised how much he feared her answer. She didn’t respond but her piercing gaze said it all, she was a Loki after all.
She did. And he would rather die than let her down.
It wasn’t an easy feat to earn Loki’s trust. He knew that.
They chose the right thing but He Who Remains had to die. In this timeline, and any other. Loki was not the villain in this story, the man who orchestrated it all was.
They turned simultaneously, facing the man before them, and as two daggers flew to imbed themselves in his chest, they grabbed the time stone he wore on his wrist and let the magic flow through them. They enchanted, channelled and created, they kept at bay what needed to be tamed, they searched, fixed and tied.
The body on the chair behind the desk turned to dust and they watched, entranced, as the particles flew and joined the cluster of light outside.
And as they both stood frozen, bound to the stone they held, they watched the constellations of timelines outside turn and twist and grow, being absorbed by the milky way of the Sacred Timeline, strengthening it, empowering it, filling it with light. The faint roars of the monsters created by the voids and emptiness turned into blissful silence, the world beneath their feet stopped shaking, the thunderstorm ceased and the time was one again.
They stood breathless as they watched all the puzzle pieces fall into place. And suddenly he Knew . He knew it all, he knew the beginning and end. Time was no longer a riddle.
I am the All-Knowing now, Father. Are you proud? I won’t let you down. And suddenly Loki knew that Odin would, indeed, be proud, that he had always been proud. He chuckled quietly.
Was this what fulfilling their glorious purpose felt like? No revenge, no pain - only the blissful silence and twinkling lights of souls that built the timeline.
“Is that it? No end of the world? No blood and pain?” Sylvie asked, and he lost himself in the reflection of the lights flickering and mixing before them in her shining eyes.
“That’s it. Just two Lokis, winning, for a change…” He wanted to say so much more to her but the words suddenly stuck in his throat. What could he possibly tell her that she didn’t already know ?
Still entranced with the light dancing in her eyes he leaned down to cover her lips with his again.
Even if he now knew , kissing her was something else, it was new. It was fresh, it was unexpected. And he hoped it would always feel that way.
He parted her lips with a skillful swipe of his tongue and she opened for him. He kissed her like there was no tomorrow, even if he knew they had eternity. He kissed her like she was a dream he was afraid to wake up from in a moment, even if he knew just how real she was. He kissed her fast as if he couldn’t waste a second. He kissed her with hunger that couldn't be fulfilled. He kissed her with a thirst that couldn’t be quenched.
And she kissed him back. With the same abandon, with the same urgency.
He lifted her and sat her on the desk, stepping between her parted legs. He couldn’t get enough of her lips, he was drunk on the way she tasted, he was dizzy with need. He couldn’t stop, she was too much already but he wanted more.
And so did she. He knew.
She tore at the buttons of his shirt, and he keened as her nails scraped his chest, against the scars, the cuts and bruises. He shivered as the pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure of her fingers exploring his body.
Wasn’t it part of being a Loki? The pain and the pleasure mixing into a dangerous concoction. The need and the anger. The want and the despair.
There was no anger and despair, not there, not in the Citadel at the End of Time.
With the slightest wave of his hand her armour was gone. She was beautiful, she was ethereal.
He looked hungrily over her slight frame, her eyes glazed with need, her heaving breasts and her parted thighs. He needed her. They needed each other.
He dropped to his knees before her, spread her legs further apart and looked up in question. He knew she wanted it but he ha d to hear it. He needed her voice to ring in his ears, urging, demanding.
“Please,” she whispered as the skin of her inner thigh prickled under his hot breath. His eyes turned towards her glistening center, she was so ready for him, he could feel it.
He ran his tongue through her folds; she tasted divine. She was a God after all. She tasted like the Mead of Poetry and he wanted to sing her praises as he feasted. The noises she made made his head spin, he wanted to hear them every day till the end of times. He slid a finger into her soaked entrance, then another and revelled in the way her body arched, splayed on the desk.
She was a vision.
“Loki, please…” she moaned as she writhed, she knew he would do anything for her, so he obliged as he sped up the pace of his fingers and sucked gently on her clit. Her scream tore through the space around them and he let her ride her release on his tongue and fingers, relishing on the bitter sweet taste of her arousal.
He didn’t get up from his knees as he watched her collect herself and sit up, she looked down at him with a soft smile gracing her features.
She was a God, and he wanted to worship her. Forever.
“Sylvie,” he breathed. He couldn’t look away from her. She was pure perfection, she was a Loki after all.
“Stand up,” her voice was demanding but soft and he complied in a heartbeat. “I want you to show me, that there’s more to a Loki than a sharp tongue and skilled fingers.”
He couldn’t help the wicked smile that crossed his features. With another idle wave of his hand, his clothes disappeared and he stepped between Sylvie’s parted legs. He hitched her thighs over his hips and laid her gently across the table before sliding into her effortlessly. She let out a soft moan but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her to scream and writhe in pleasure.
He set out a punishing pace, he was a God after all, he didn’t tire. His eyes glazed over as her spine arched and her hands gripped the edge of the desk above her.
“Just like that - Oh!” she cried out. But he knew that this was how she wanted it. How she wanted him. Fast and hard. Pain mixed with pleasure.
He moved within her with raging abandon. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, this was it for him.
She sat up and clutched at his arms as if for dear life, as he drove into her relentlessly. This was where he wanted to spend eternity - with her nails drawing blood as they dug into his back, with her legs wound tightly around his middle, and with her filthy praises echoing in his ear.
He reached between them and rubbed furiously at her clit, he wanted to see her fall apart in his arms, he wanted to feel her clench around his cock.
She bit on his neck as she came undone, hard, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He followed her over the precipice with a scream as the Sacred Timeline twisted and turned behind them - their new world, their kingdom.
His knees buckled and he leaned against the desk, his face buried in her neck. He was satisfied, he was strong, he could fight thousands of Alioths now with the power that surged through him.
“What makes Loki a Loki?” she asked with a chuckle as she let her fingers wander across the expanse of his chest.
“Their glorious purpose,” he whispered back, gathering her hand and kissing her knuckles.
“And what is your glorious purpose now?”
“You are,” he responded in a heartbeat.