a/n: this one is basically just y/n and loki bullying each other for ten minutes<3

...

'Your grip is wrong.'

You turn abruptly, annoyed. 'What?'

Loki is stood behind you, watching silently. You hadn't realised he was there until he'd announced himself. Rudely.

'Your grip is wrong,' he repeats, gesturing to the sword clutched in your hand. He looks bored and you are already infuriated by him, even though your conversation barely began five seconds ago.

'My grip is fine,' you tell him, turning away and repositioning your feet so that you can carry on with your training. It's been a long day and you are not in the mood for one of his visits. You begin moving through the motions you've been taught, which you've been practicing for the better part of the afternoon, trying to quiet your mind.

Loki sighs loudly behind you, and you grit your teeth, ignoring him.

'Look, you're doing it wrong—'

You spin around and direct the tip of your sword at the Prince of Asgard's throat, which he looks nothing short of delighted about. It might be the first time you've seen something like a semblance of a smile on his face. He raises his hands slowly along with one of his eyebrows, and the look of amusement on his face only serves to enrage you further.

'Don't think for a moment I won't run you through with this blade,' you tell him pleasantly.

'I wouldn't dream of it darling,' he replies, and you scowl, dropping the sword to your side.

'What do you want?'

'I've been watching you,' he says, looking over your head across the courtyard as he speaks as though he has other, more interesting places to be.

'Yes. It's starting to become tiresome,' you reply, and he looks back to appraisingly like you've said something to please him.

'I'm leaving. And you're going to come with me.'

Your mouth falls slightly open and you find yourself wondering whether the man before you takes pleasure from confusing you constantly.

'I hardly know you,' you manage to say.

'I am your Prince,' he replies in a tone which very nearly makes you raise the sword back to his throat.

'And I hardly know you,' you repeat. You think you see his jaw twitch and hope that you're annoying him.

'What do you want to know?' he asks, as if any one thing you could ask him would help to counter your confusion.

'Why would you have me come with you?'

'You tell me what you think of me. No one else will, it's refreshing,' he tells you shortly. 'Anything else?'

There is everything else, but he seems to take your bemused silence as a sign that you have no further questions. 'Good. We leave tomorrow.'

'And if I don't want to come?' you ask, standing a little straighter.

'Oh, but I know you do,' he says, taking a step towards you. 'And if you say a word about this to anyone—' he continues, and your hand clutches at air as your sword appears in his hand instead and he levels it at your throat, his voice dangerously low. 'Don't think for a moment I won't run you through with this blade.'

There's real threat in his eyes as he looks at you; your breath catches as the tip of your sword comes to rest gently at the hollow of your throat.

'Well?' he asks softly when you don't reply, lifting the blade a fraction of an inch to lift your chin up. Your heart is pounding in your chest, you're not entirely sure he won't make true on his claim and it's only this that stops you from calling him something unspeakable.

'Fine,' you grit out, jerking your head away. He lowers the sword looking insufferably smug, until you snatch it back from him and turn away.

'You'll need to learn how to hold a sword properly,' he says from behind you.

'I know how to hold a sword properly,' you scowl, adjusting your grip and repositioning your feet, again.

'If you knew how to hold a sword properly I wouldn't be able to do this,' he tells you, and your sword flies unceremoniously from your hand, yanked away by some invisible force. You watch it land on the ground several feet away, baffled, sure that your grip had been perfect.

'It's not your fault. They don't teach combat properly here anymore. It's all etiquette now, as though that matters when you're in the thick of it,' Loki continues. You're not quite listening, still wondering how he could have possibly known about your plans to leave Asgard. He summons the sword back to his hand and moves so that he's stood in front of you, adjusting his grip so that he's holding it in an entirely different way to how you'd been taught.

'This is how you hold a sword.'

He passes it back to you, and you take it, adjusting your grip to match his. It feels instantly better, you have more control over the sword already.

'I like my way better,' you lie, for the sake of irritating him.

'Then you are going to die very quickly,' Loki replies amiably. 'Will I see you at the ball this evening?'

You almost feel dizzy from the rate at which this conversation is moving.

'Perhaps,' you shrug noncommittally. Loki looks vaguely amused before turning and walking away without another word, leaving you holding your sword in a way which feels both alien and secure at the same time. You give it an experimental swing and it slices through the air with a precision which you'd been seeking not ten minutes before.

...

'You look ridiculous.'

You spin around and see Loki stood behind you, having snuck up on you again.

'Stop being so creepy. Why can't you just say hello like a normal person?' you ask him. He doesn't reply, seemingly too busy looking you up and down. You cross your arms and lean back again the cool stone wall behind you in an attempt to get him to stop looking at you.

The ballroom is packed full with nobles and royals dressed in masquerade, clad in ludicrous masks and outrageous outfits, yourself included. You look back at Loki who has mercifully directed his attention at some other poor Asgardian. He looks just as ludicrous as everyone else.

'Like what you see?' he asks, and your expression goes from one of thinly veiled contempt to incredulity.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You were staring at me,' he remarks, turning back to you.

'I was just thinking about how stupid you look,' you tell him. He smiles, which you hate. The sconce on the wall behind you holds a flame which illuminates one side of his face as he turns back to look out across the ballroom and you catch yourself before you can start admiring his side profile.

'You didn't tell anyone?' he murmurs, so quietly you wonder if he'd said anything at all. You shake your head almost imperceptibly, still stood with your arms crossed. 'Good,' he nods, and then there is a great cheer and round of applause as a dance comes to an end.

Loki sighs. 'I don't suppose there's any point asking you to dance.'

'Why on Asgard would you ask me to dance?' you ask him.

'Forget it. I doubt you even know how,' he says.

'As if that's going to work on me,' you scoff, unmoving.

'I bet you're awful at it, the way you were moving earlier out in the courtyard—'

Before he can finish you've set off, making a beeline for a bored looking girl in a mask resting against the north wall of the ballroom. 'Care to dance?' you ask when you reach her, and she hesitates for a second before taking your hand.

'I don't really dance,' she says as you lead her on to the dancefloor.

'Me neither,' you reply, making an extreme effort not to look at Loki as the jaunty music starts up once again. It's been so long you've forgotten that you actually quite enjoy dancing, and by the time the song ends and the ballroom erupts into a cheer both you and the girl you're dancing with are smiling.

Before you can remove yourself from the dancefloor or wipe the smile from your face the girl has been replaced with Loki, who looks far too self-satisfied for your liking.

'So you can enjoy yourself,' he says, and you make an effort not to scowl at him.

'I suppose so.'

The music starts up again, but this time it's considerably slower. You see your own panic reflected in Loki's eyes behind his mask for a second, but then it's gone and he's reached out to pull you towards him. You're halfway to protesting when your chest meets his and his hand comes to rest on your waist and quite abruptly you've forgotten what it was you were going to protest against.

'Were you going to say something?' he asks, fitting his hand which isn't on your waist over one of your hands; your other hand lifts automatically to his shoulder. Were you?

'No,' you say, passionately hating how much taller than you he is. He starts to move and you follow his lead, wondering how you can avoid acknowledging the fact that he's a very good dancer.

'Ask me more questions about leaving,' he mutters into the space just above your ear.

'I thought I wasn't allowed to talk about it.'

'Obviously you can talk about it to me,' he says, and you think you can detect a hint of an eye roll in his voice. It nearly makes you smile. 'I know you have more questions.'

'How did you know?'

'Know what?'

'That I was planning to leave.'

He's silent for a moment before replying, which makes you wonder if he really had known about your plan to leave after all.

'I know a lost soul when I see one. You don't belong here, just the same as me.'

'You're the Prince of this place, as you seem to so love reminding everyone. What possible reason could you have for wanting to leave?'

'If you're really asking me that question then you're even stupider than you seem,' he replies shortly. You don't reply, moving to the music and the shuffle and chatter of a hundred other people around you in silence.

'Ask me something else,' he says eventually.

'Can I trust you?'

He pulls back to look at you, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his mask.

'Can I trust you?'

'That's not an answer.'

'My answer depends upon yours.'

'I don't know.'

'Then I don't know either.'

For some reason this makes you smile. 'Okay.'

'That's it? You don't want to know where we're going?'

'I bet you don't know yet.'

Loki scoffs. 'Of course I know where we're going.'

'Fine,' you say, watching him as he looks away over the top of your head again. 'I trust you.'

If you hadn't been inches away from him you might have missed the small, sharp inhale, the brief flash of something in his eyes at your words. 'I wouldn't, if I were you.'

'I'll keep that in mind,' you say, waiting for him to meet your gaze. When he finally does, he looks almost uneasy.

'Don't get familiar,' he says, and you're not sure whether he's talking to himself or you.

'I wouldn't dream of it, darling,' you reply.

Loki looks away, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling. He's sure he's chosen well.