trickor | (no subject)

"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?"

"Why not?" He shrugs, eyeing the cracking critically before taking it as a single bite. "Do I need a reason?"

"I'm not sure I believe you do anything for no reason."

Well, that's certainly flattering, and he says as much with a smile and a gesture, a wineglass flickering into being as Loki pours for them both.

Her nostrils flare slightly as he pours, instinctively looking for signs of more blood. Even the infamous Black Widow can't tamp down every involuntary reaction.

"Don't look so anticipatory," he scolds mockingly, one eyebrow raising. "It's just wine."

That stung. He'd seen her hunger more than once now when he shouldn't have seen it at all. "Did you invite me here just to laugh at me?"

"I wouldn't have to invite you here for that."

But he does draw a flask out from the breast pocket of his suit, sliding it across the table.

"I won't tell you where this is from or how I obtained it. It is entirely your choice whether or not you wish to accept."

She takes it, though she doesn't open it yet to confirm its contents. Loki has secrets. No one could be surprised by that.

"Will you tell me something else then?"

Interesting.

"That depends entirely on what it is you wish to know."

"What are you?" she asks evenly, not really expecting him to tell her. "Not the same thing I am."

Oh, that... That is a loaded question.

"I am Loki," he says. And then stops there. He's not of Asgard, nor is he of Jotunheim. He's simply... Loki.

Natasha is good at loaded questions.

"...Fair enough. That's more of an answer than I was expecting."

She can't say it satisfies her, but it is what it is. She opens the flask.

She's greeted by the coppery scent of blood, rich and sweet and undeniably fresh. "Put it away," he hisses, eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you expected me to hand over, really, but you can't expect to be the only one here who is sensitive to such things."

She caps it again immediately, giving him a flat look. Other than him, who should she be expecting? She didn't argue, though. "You seemed to find it safe enough before."

"It's different when in the wine," he points out. "Surely you noticed that much. It's easier to resist when even slightly diluted."

She might have noticed, but even in wine, it had been so difficult for her to resist.

"You expected me not to check?" she says instead. It's not as though she has a reason to trust him.