trickor | (no subject)

"Not worried it's poisoned." It's a fine distinction to make. She knows Loki isn't safe. She'll be shocked if this encounter isn't a trap, at least on some level. But she doesn't think that the danger is anything as straightforward as drugs or poison.

That would end the game too quickly.

She extends one hand and draws the goblet toward her by its base. She's not ready to take it, not yet, but she's claimed it. Her fingers play idly across the stem.

"You really turned out for someone expecting to get stood up. That's quite a suit."

Loki preens. "It is only fitting to match the decor," he sweeps a hand out to encompass the lavish restaurant they're sitting in, "is it not?"

He understands the power of fitting in as well, more importantly, and the power one commands when well-dressed. Politics. Something he grew up with an intimate understanding of that Thor is only still struggling to comprehend.

Natasha knows a great deal about fitting in, and about looking important. About looking good. And she did turn out in a very well fitting and attractive little black dress—not as flashy as some things, but in a place like this, she does look right at home.

She wonders if he appreciates it.

"You have good taste in restaurants." Her fingers taps the base of the goblet. "Where is this from?"

"I do," he says, and smiles. "It's a wonderful vintage, I think you'd enjoy it. Please, try some."

His wrist turns as he gestures at the goblet, very aware of how he hasn't actually answered the question she asked.

She doesn't doubt that she would enjoy it. She can smell it, the scent drawing her in. She draws a slow breath—the gesture troubles her, but she agreed to come for a reason.

"You think so?" she says, her lips pressing together in a tightly line. She's used to trusting her instincts, but right now... they seem suspect.

"Would I steer you wrong?"

Loki folds his hands as he leans back in his chair, waits. He can see the hunger in her face, the way the skin around her eyes tighten in want and suspicion both. He can't blame her.

"It was not taken through force, if that is what concerns you. Though I do not see why it should."

"It does concern me," she says.

She doesn't trust him. At the same time, whatever his game is, she expects it too be a lot more complicated than poisoning her, or tricking her into drinking blood from someone he'd coerced or killed. The first was too simple. The second, wouldn't actually do much to hurt her.

"All right." She wets her lips discreetly, telling herself that there's more to be gained by playing along. Telling herself that he knows more than she does. "Bottoms up."

She lifts the goblet to her lips.

He watches her from over the top of his glass--his drink actually wine. A red, well-aged, on the dry side. It goes well with the cheese and meat plate that they'd both mostly been ignoring.

Loki changes that now, casually spreading some brie onto a cracker.

If she had any attention for him, she'd have appreciated that he didn't stare. Unfortunately, the taste of blood hits her tongue and her focus narrows down to nothing else, so the infamous Black Widow, for the first time in memory, was suddenly totally unaware of her surroundings. She drank steadily, leveraging all of her control not to gulp it down.

She hasn't been feeding, and it shows in the intensity with which she drinks now. She doesn't lower the glass until it's empty, her breath shallow and her face suddenly showing a little flush.

Interestingly, this was beyond Loki's expectations. He'd guessed that Natasha might have gone a while without feeding, but he couldn't have expected the depth of her hunger. The cracker crunches between his teeth, and Loki doesn't turn his gaze away, watching her with sharp eyes.

Her gaze snaps up at the sound, her expression shuttering. She feels exposed. He would have seen her control strain; she's not used to the vulnerability that comes with that.

She's avoided feeding at all cost. When she's succumbed, it's been for cold blood bags. Loki's method, whatever it is, is significantly less unpleasant.

"Thank you," she says neutrally, hiding her discomfort.

"You're most welcome."

His smile could nearly be called sincere, if it was seen by anyone other than Natasha Romanoff. "Please, help yourself to some food. You seem...hungry."

She does know better. And she knows he saw more than she intended for him too. The taste of blood had weakened her normal self-control.

"I'm trying to watch what I eat."

"Are you trying a new diet?" Loki's smile is removed, nasty. "I don't see why. You look quite...ravishing. As it were."

The change in his expression makes her skin crawl. She lifts her chin slightly, setting the goblet aside. "Maybe I'm just not the type to overindulge."

"Perhaps you should change that. The occasional overindulgence is a balm on the soul."

"Is that so?" She doesn't try not to sound skeptical, though there's no real venom in it. She's just not the kind of person who can do that—control has been too thoroughly trained into her. She can't just let this drive her.

Taking what little she does is bad enough.

"Is it not?" Loki chuckles, and the the goblet vanishes with a twist of his fingers. "Denying yourself does you no good, from what I see. You'd have killed someone sooner or later the way you operate, Lady Romanoff."

She's killed plenty of people already. She doesn't intend to do it now, not because she's lost control, but that fact makes his warning sit on her oddly. It's not like she can claim to be an innocent.

"I'm not going to lose control. This is part of not losing control."

Loki outright laughs at that. "It seemed more like you were testing the limits of your control."

"You don't think I can keep this up."

"No," he says, smooth and unhesitatingly. "I don't."

"And you're trying to help me out of the goodness of your heart?" She doesn't believe that for a moment. If he wants to gloat, he might as well get it out of his system.

"There is no goodness in my heart."

Loki turns his gaze away to pick up another cracker, spreading it with cheese for another bite.

"Though I'm sure you've already come to that conclusion."

"That doesn't answer my question though. Why?"