My Grouch has been VERY happy lately 💙

Felix rolls up his sleeves. He tries not to wince. It fucking hurts. The skin looks shredded, but it’s no bleeding, just exposed, raw. It’s red hot, burns to the touch, like the worst case of sunburn’s been ground against a granite wall.

Loki takes hold of his right wrist without asking, and his hands are very cold. A startling contrast to the burns adorning the draiik’s muscles. Felix goes to complain but the jotun silences him with a glare, one similar to those he directs at his brother, and smirks as Felix turns his head away. “I could leave you unhealed,” he says, “Be grateful I’m doing this for you, Elliot.”

“You’re cold,” he just about manages to bite back in a strained attempt to keep his voice under control. He flinches as his hand skims over the burns, but keeps his mouth shut. Loki glances up at him, but he doesn’t see, staring at the wall with a wince in his lips. Through a pout he manages to mutter “You’re taking forever. Siyu is much faster.”

“Your burns are unfamiliar,” Loki says, and when Felix goes to yelp at him for another harsh grasp he silences him, “The rougher the better, trust me. I’ll be done in no time if you just sit still and do as I say.”

Felix can’t help but see the innuendo. His breath hitches and he tries not to pull a face. Loki notices and just gives him a smug look – not an intentional innuendo, but that doesn’t stop him from looking so proud.

“I’m sure the ladies love you,” Felix grumbles.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Loki replies, then swiftly changes the topic. “These wounds are caused when magic is concentrated into one fixed part of the body, that is why your arm took so much damage”, he explains, “Excellent for a final blow, not so good for regular combat.”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“Apparently I do.” His hand turns colder and he moulds it over the mangled wrist, around his arm, thumb pressing between tendons, a soothing, satisfyingly painful massage. “It’s a last resort. Like a Bilgesnipe snapping its horns to kill its predator, or… a bee.“

Felix doesn’t ask how he knows so much about bees.

“So what you’re saying is… don’t do that again?”

Loki releases the draiik’s arm, satisfied with his work. Felix flexes his fingers. They still sting like crazy, every sensation shooting prickling daggers up his arms. But now a cool stillness lingers over it, almost numbing some of the pain. It’s much less hot.

He straightens his back and steps away from the bed. “I’m giving Heimdall strict instructions. You are not to leave Asgard, no exceptions.”

Felix looks up at him, frowns, and curls his fingers. “You expect me to go along with that?”

“You have to,” Loki returns sharply, “Unless you want to disobey your King.” He smiles one last time, then turns and leaves, “Rest easy, Felix.”