Serenades and Seidr
Summary: Loki imagine - Imagine Loki singing loudly and passionately, and then blushing when he realizes that you’re listening. Also, Loki helps you siphon seidr.
Notes: So, it has been a hot minute since I posted my last Loki drabble, but I’m back baby! I’m honestly not sure how I feel about this one but I’ve had it in my drafts for the longest time and thought I’d might as well post it before I start up my first multi-chapter fic. Hope you guys like it!
Word count: 1653
Warnings: Fluff, mild embarrassment, some semi-steamy kisses but no actual smut
You huff in annoyance after you finish your third failed attempt at seamlessly connecting the arms of the figure you’re drawing to it’s torso. The paper is slightly wrinkled and the faint marks of half-erased pencil strokes are visible surrounding the shoulders, both of which provoke you to crumple the paper and chuck it at the far wall. The crude ball, quite pathetically, only makes it halfway across the room before landing in the middle of the royal Asgardian rug of yours and Loki’s shared drawing room, only furthering your ire. You drag yourself out of your cushioned chair to pick up the trash, but your body stills before you can even get close to your miserable paper ball.
The faintest sound of someone singing drifts across the empty space, seeming to originate from the room separated from the one you’re currently in by large, heavy doors. The only person it could’ve been was Loki.. but you’d never heard him sing before, and he certainly never boasted about this secret talent. You silently pad over to said doors, and gently press your ear against the cool wood.
The lyrics are indecipherable but the melody is sweet and soothing. You sigh and lean more of your weight against the door as the song continues, picturing Loki mindlessly singing this tune while preparing for his meeting with the lords from the coast and various other members of the Jötun royal family. The thought of him positioning his golden, horned helmet over his raven hair as the tune slips through his throat is enough to give you the courage to crack open the door for a peak, praying the Norns will let you slip into the room undetected.
The hinges make the tiniest of groans, but Loki’s voice, of which is much clearer now, never falters, encouraging you to sneak through the opening and slowly shut the door behind you.
He’s lying fully dressed on his back on the bed when you spot him, illustrating glowing runes and symbols you recognized from one of his many spellbooks, in the air in front of him. The figures of light seem to dance along with his voice as he waves his hand half-heartedly.
“Would you like to try?”
The question shocks you, of course a part of you had suspected he was aware of your presence but you kind of hoped he’d let you watch him for a moment.
“What do you mean?” You ask, tentatively closing the distance between you both when he sits up. “Try magic? You know I’m no good.”
“You mustn’t doubt your ability, most mortals only dream of being able siphon seidr, much less being able to harness it - come here.”
You fold your legs under you when you sit down next to him on the bed of furs, “also, when were you going to mention that you can sing?”
His ears tint the slightest shade of red and he runs his large hands down the sides of your arms, shoulder to elbow, as a distraction, “shh, one thing at a time.”
“You know I’m going to make you sing for me later ri-“
You’re cut off when he presses one his long, lean fingers against your lips, “How about this, I’ll sing for you only if you at least try practicing simple seidr.”
You cringe at the thought of another embarrassing, failed attempt at spell-casting, but the promise of being serenaded puts your mind at ease.
He smiles brilliantly at you, adorably giddy like a child. “Do you rememberer the sigil I showed you, the aegishjalmur?”
You try visualizing the relatively simple symbol in your mind, “I believe so.”
“Good, you’re going to try to do what I was doing when you walked in,” he tells you, “all you are going to do is try to produce the sigil in the air.”
He makes it look easy when he waves his hand, demonstrating the movements required.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs you, and you obey, “first, try to harness the power.”
“Easier said than done, Lokes.”
“I was getting there,” he teases gently, chuckling, “clear your mind, you’ll sense the pull of the seidr’s power if you focus.”
You try to do as he says, and when you feel no magical “pull”, you start to get frustrated and huff.
“It’s not working,” you almost cringe at how petulant you sound, but the embarrassment of yet another failed seidr attempt makes your face burn, and you’ve no doubt your face displays your crushed emotions as well. “Don’t you have a meeting or something to get to, anyway?”
“They’ll live. Besides, a king is never late,” he rubs soothing circles into the outsides of your thighs, just firm enough to calm you, light enough to not distract you.
You focus on your breathing, searching for that ever elusive “pull”. You’re about to give up hope when you see a ball of light flash behind your eyelids. You frown and try to follow it, like a magnet, it draws you towards it.
“I see something,” you tell Loki, your voice no longer containing the disconcerted tone of before, but a newfound sense of awe and excitement. “It’s some form of light? It’s drawing me towards it.”
“Draw it towards you, darling. You need to control it, harness it yourself or it will consume you.”
The warning, despite being delivered without any apprehension, sends a bolt of fear down your spine, the idea of being consumed by an unknown magical force doesn’t exactly sound fun. You find the burning ball again, but you don’t follow or entertain it when it darts about, instead willing it to come to you. The light becomes less fleeting but is still stubborn, so you try harder. You can’t help but feel ridiculous when you frown in concentration, using every bit of your will power and feeling quite like Eleven from Stranger Things in order to rope in the ball. After what seems like forever, the light finally falls within what you can only describe as your mental grasp.
“I have it!” You exclaim, grinning and letting out a small giggle in your exhilaration.
You hear Loki chuckle along with you. “Good, good. Place the seidr’s power in your hands.”
You drag the light closer to you, close enough to feel it’s power warm your chest, you direct that power to your fingertips the best that you can, but you’re not sure if it’s working.
“Open your eyes, love”
You slowly creak your eyes open to reveal a glowing, golden mist enveloping your hands. You squeal in shock and happiness, causing Loki to bark out a laugh.
“I’m actually doing it!”
“Indeed you are, darling,” he encourages with the biggest smile adorning his beautiful face. “You’re not done yet, though. Visualize the aegishjalmur, and trace the design in front of you if it helps.”
You do as much but for a moment, nothing happens. Refusing to allow yourself to get upset again, you try again, and the slightest outline of a circular symbol appears between your hands.
You gasp in elation and bite your lip in determination to make the sigil more visible. Slowly but surely, a golden aegishjalmur begins to glow brightly and proudly between Loki and you.
“I did it, baby!” You laugh and twirl the figure with your fingers.
Loki twists his hands in order to allow his own aegishjalmur to dance with yours.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Loki’s voice is low, just above a whisper.
“They are,” you reply without hesitation.
The green and gold sigils dance around each other, seeming to move to an inaudible rhythm. After a moment, you let yours fade away, a loopy grin etched onto your face.
“Thank you, Loki,” your eyes flicker up to meet his to find him watching you with a loving smile pulling at his own lips. Your breath hitches when his eyes flick down to your lips.
“You’re beautiful when you smile, you know that?” He’s already leaning towards you before he finishes complimenting you, and your lips meet before you have the chance to reply.
His mouth is warm and inviting, even in his Jotun form, he gently pushes you onto your back and moves over you. His hands make quick work with your hair, pushing it out of your face and allowing access to your neck. You feel your blush travel from your face to your chest and a low rumble erupts from his throat as he nips your jaw with his sharp teeth.
“Gorgeous,” he growls into the crevice between the corner of your jaw and the flesh just below your ear.
You sigh happily and intertwine your fingers into his hair, keeping him pressed hard against you.
“My King, your presence is requested in the throne room by her Highness Lady Fárbauti.”
The interruption takes you both by surprise and the whine of displeasure does not go unheard from the said King in your arms. His childishness would make you laugh if you weren’t frustrated from the intrusion yourself.
“Inform her Highness that the King will be down in just a moment,” he calls out in the vague direction of the door, his voice booming with an underlying tone of annoyance.
His earlier promise pops into your mind when he peels himself away from you.
“You owe me a song when you return,” the smile you give him is cheeky and his responding groan makes you cough out a laugh.
“I suppose a promise is a promise,” he reluctantly recedes as he smooths out his leather armor. “I’ll send for a servant to bring you food if you wish?”
“That sounds great,” you cross your arms behind your head, a blissed out expression adorning your features.
He leans down to place one last sweet, chaste kiss on your forehead, “In case you’ve fallen asleep before I return, rest easy my little drottning.”