Yet another "Blame it on Brightki" story.
Author's Note: The lyrics in the story are a Norwegian children's song Bjornen Sover (The Bear is Sleeping). Hey, I tried looking up Scandinavian lullabies, and this was the best the internet spit back. Just go with it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor or any affiliated characters & make no profit from this story.
Sing So Sweetly
Loki entered the small abode, a bored frown gracing his lips. He would not even be in this dreadful little apartment—as the Midgardians called them—if not for keeping up appearances. Thor was under the impression that Loki allowed Odin to continue believing he was dead merely so he didn't have to return to imprisonment. Under the impression that Loki was graciously committing to a sort of probation—that as long as he kept his brother apprised of his actions, said brother would not feel pressed to report that he was still alive to Asgard.
Really, it was all to observe whether anyone was catching on to his continued charade—Thor and his my temper guides my actions intellect was the surest barometer of this, as he would likely greet seeing Loki by hurling Mjolnir at him.
Loki shook his head. Not that any of that mattered, as the oaf wasn't even here to greet him. Honestly, one would think he could at least keep his days in order.
Huffing, he took a seat in a chair with a ridiculously full cushion to await his brother's return. Then again, his brows drew upward as he considered that perhaps it was he who was incorrect. After all, he had so much to keep track of, lately.
There was a faint, metallic squeak in the distance and he turned his head toward the noise. Now that he recalled, a low sound of splattering water—like a fountain—had been present when he'd entered, he simply hadn't thought much on it.
Sighing he shook his head, once more. He did hope his brother wasn't going to be terribly long.
When he began singing, he did so more to keep himself awake than for the sake of revisiting childhood memories.
Darcy stepped from the bathroom, towel in hand. She started for her room as she patted her skin dry, but then, she heard the voice.
Frowning, she rolled her eyes. Hadn't those two left, already? Maybe they'd forgotten something. Whatever. She'd just been happy they were taking their lovely bullshit outside and leaving her in peace for a few hours.
She secured the towel around her body and ventured out toward the apartment's small living room.
"Bjørnen sover, bjørnen sover,
I sitt lune hi."
Halting in mid-stride, she blinked hard and shook her head. That had to be Thor . . . . Well, unless one of the other Avengers had stopped in looking for him and had learned a Scandinavian language in their off-hours.
Frankly, she wouldn't mind meeting Captain America, she just didn't imagine he would be a very good singer. And she doubted he was bilingual.
"Den er ikke farlig,
Bare vi går varlig."
And this voice . . . . She inched forward on silent footfalls to listen more closely to the near-whispered lyrics.
"Men man kan jo,
Men man kan jo,
Aldri være trygg."
This voice was beautiful. Forcing herself to continue down the small, narrow corridor, she stepped into the living room just as the song started again. It didn't matter that she was in a towel; Thor's brain was so Jane-centric, Darcy knew she could sit down at the breakfast table naked, and he'd greet her with nothing more than a passing curiosity about why she looked different that morning.
"Bjørnen sover, bjørnen sover,
I sitt lune hi."
"Damn, Thor, I had no idea you could sing so . . . ." The words died on her lips as she saw the dark-haired man sitting in Thor's favorite chair.
She swallowed hard, feeling a blush creep over her skin as she held the stranger's—the gorgeous stranger's—green-eyed gaze. "Sweetly," she said, finishing the statement in a whisper.
Loki stared at her in silence for a moment. Propping his elbows on the armrests of the chair to steeple his fingers in front of his mouth, he leaned back as he tipped his chin upward.
His brother wasn't the sort to have a dalliance behind Jane's back, yet here was this . . . . His gaze swept over her quickly, noting shapely legs, and curves barely concealed beneath the towel she clutched at her breast. This attractive young woman, running about Thor's home clad in nothing but a bit of thick, white cotton.
"Now, who might you be?"
Darcy let out a breath, the tension draining from her instantly and her shoulders drooping. The Scandinavian song, the appearance—Jane would never admit to it in front of Thor, but she'd given Darcy a pretty vivid description of his brother—the attitude. She knew who this was, who this had to be. Come to think of it, she was surprised they hadn't met sooner.
"Oh, God. You're Loki."
He couldn't help a smirk at her comment, crossing his long legs as he shifted to drop his chin against his fist. "Either one of those works for me, really."
Funny, he thought, how she seemed disinclined to be bothered by her current state of undress.
"Yeah, we're not going to do that," she said with a smirk—albeit a humorless one—of her own.
Her feisty demeanor called to mind a conversation Jane and Thor had had when last he'd checked in with them, as Jane stated it. Yes, yes, her presence made sense, now.
"And you are Darcy, yes?"
She stood a little straighter, tugging at the edge of the towel with her free hand. Why she wasn't turning around and rushing back to her room to put on clothes was beyond her. "They told you about me?"
This was also a surprise. She so often felt under-appreciated around Jane, the astrophysicist, and Thor the . . . well, the God of friggin' Thunder.
He nodded, his gaze drifting over her, once more.
She wasn't oblivious to his inspection. Alone, in a towel, with a super-hot Asgardian sitting in her living room. Yeah, if only he could possibly think what she was thinking right now, but she really doubted it.
"Well, um . . . ." Darcy cleared her throat as she tugged at the edge of her towel again.
His gaze drifted, with obvious reluctance, back to hers. There was the loveliest bloom of color in the girl's cheeks, and a faint haze in her blue eyes. He couldn't help but wonder, what was going through her mind as she looked at him like that?
"Th—they're out. Should be back in a few hours."
He gave a thoughtful pout. That long?
"Maybe you . . . ." She shook her head, her thick, dark hair swaying about her shoulders. "Want to go do . . . whatevs it is Asgardians do to pass the time, and come back later?"
He grinned wickedly, then, prompted by her continued state of undress. "Oh?" Loki stood from the chair, crossing the room to stand a mere few inches in front of her—so close the girl had to tip her head back to maintain eye-contact. "There is nothing which crosses your mind as to how I might pass the time?"
Darcy forced a gulp down her throat, her blush deepening. Okay, so maybe he could, possibly, think what she was thinking.
"I—I, um . . . ."
His eyebrows drew upward as he held her gaze, his head tipping to one side.
She had to remind herself to breathe. Somehow, he managed to be even prettier up close. Weren't people supposed to be more flawed when they were right up in your face? Damn. It. All.
Rather than continuing to sputter at him, she put more effort than she knew should be necessary into turning on her heel. She tried not to notice that he stood so close their bodies actually brushed before she forced herself to step forward and head back down the corridor toward her room.
Tried, and failed . . . . As she walked into her room, she had to let out a rattling breath.
A half-grin tugged one corner of Loki's mouth upward as he trailed after her. After all, she hadn't formally excused herself, or given him any reason to think she believed he wouldn't follow.
Or that she didn't want him to.