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Published:
2017-11-12
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Midnight Sun

Summary:

"Are you always this hopeless at flirting?" she asked, cocking her head to study him like she was a bird of prey and he, her next meal. Not that he'd mind if he was, of course. He could think of worse fates.

Notes:

The poem Thor recites, and its translation, can be found here.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Time passed much differently on a spaceship. Thor couldn't quite get used to the never-ending black of the sky outside the windows, the never-ending dim glow of the lights overhead. Small wonder his internal rhythm was out of whack, had him prowling the byzantine hallways of the upper decks well past third shift. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly slept – before his time in Surtur's realm, certainly, but maybe even before that. His life the past two years had been one of fruitless searches and intense fighting, fitting in short bouts of rest where he could. Even now, with no threat hanging over his head and no battle to fight, the thought of going to his quarters and closing his eyes held no appeal.

It was quieter here in the catwalk of the upper decks, above the main cargo hold, but it wasn't a true silence. There was still the low hum of the ship's engines, the distant buzzing of the light fixtures, the smooth whir of the generators pumping air through the vents. Thor could hear his people below, their low murmurs, the shifting of their bodies as they moved, the even inhales and exhales of every breath, all of it music to his ears. He hadn't been able to save his home world, but he'd still saved Asgard. Their race would continue.

It was a small comfort, but he clung to it with all his might.

He hadn't intended to head to the officers quarters, but somehow, he wasn't surprised when his self-imposed patrol carried him up another flight of stairs and down the wide hallway. Or that he found himself ringing the bell outside a particular room before he could talk himself out of it.

There was a slight rustling, then the door was yanked open. Valkyrie, dressed in thin pants and a shirt that had no doubt been procured from the room's previous occupant, stared up at him with an inquisitive look. She held a half-full bottle loosely between two fingers. "Well well well, your majesty. What brings you to my humble abode?"

Thor cleared a dry throat and clasped his hands in front of him to keep himself still. Every time he thought he'd gotten used to the look of her, she would change it just enough to knock him right back on his ass. And right now, with her hair loose and curling around her shoulders and those full lips curling up in a small smirk, she looked relaxed and far, far too tempting. Especially since he knew the softness was a mirage. He would not make the mistake of underestimating her, or her strength and wits and guile, again.

"I was just...I thought I'd..." Honestly, he had no idea why he was here. Just that this was the first place his restless feet had stopped after endless hours of giving whatever aid and comfort he could to his people.

She sighed and held the door open wider, then jerked her head. "Come on. In you get before you have a fit trying to figure out how to ask without asking."

He stepped inside, grateful for her perceptiveness, and looked around the room. It was set up much like his own quarters – decent-sized bed in the corner that didn't look like it had been touched, a low sofa resting along one wall, two doors along the opposite wall that led to the bathroom and a tiny closet, everything spartan and neat and dull, except for the gleaming metal of her sword sitting, within easy reach, on the table in front of the sofa.

"I love what you've done with the place," he remarked, wincing even as he said it. Not his smoothest line.

She let out a short laugh. "Yeah, me and interior decorating are a thing now. Maybe I'll look into it, since bounty hunting seems to be off the table for a bit." She took a long pull from her bottle and regarded him out of cool, flat eyes that missed nothing. "Was there something you actually wanted, your majesty?"

His brain short-circuited once again at having her full attention. Was it hot on here or was it just him? "I, uh, you know, at first...I know you meant it as an insult, but now I quite like it. When you call me that, I mean," he finished, faltering as one of her eyebrows lifted imperiously. She could give lessons to Nat about how to convey disdain without saying a word.

After a moment, she shook her head. "Well, now that you're actually king, you'll have people fawning over you night and day the way you're used to."

"No, that's not...I just meant I like the way it sounds," he said, then, because he just couldn't seem to stop himself where she was concerned: "I mean, the way you say it. On your mouth. Not that I've spent any time thinking about your mouth, that would be weird, and possibly creepy and...I'm just going to shut up now, shall I."

Her lips turned up, amused now, laugh lines appearing as she let out a soft chuckle. This one fond instead of mocking. "Are you always this hopeless at flirting?" she asked, cocking her head to study him like she was a bird of prey and he, her next meal. Not that he'd mind if he was, of course. He could think of worse fates.

"No, actually, I'm...my seductive skills are normally...renowned," he replied, with another wince. Why did he feel so large and clumsy next to her? He'd once been worshipped on Earth as a god of fertility, and yet, here he was, acting every inch the callow, unbedded youth. If his brother was in the room to witness his ineptitude, he'd no doubt be on the floor and crying with laughter, and Thor wouldn't have blamed him for it.

The white of her tattoos contrasted beautifully against the lush fawn of her skin when she tilted her head the other way, her look thoughtful this time. "I suppose I must be special, then, to have the great seducer Thor Odinson tripping over his words."

"Yes, you are special," he said, as sincerely as he knew how. "But you don't need me to tell you that."

This time, the smile showed a hint of teeth. "Have a seat," she invited. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Uh, yes, that would be...yes." He sank to the sofa, thankful to be off wobbly legs. Would she always affect him thus?

She set another bottle on the small table and sat on the opposite side of the sofa, her legs curled under her. On the surface, she looked relaxed, at ease, not at all like the most deadly warrior in all the Nine Realms. But Thor could tell by the tilt of her chin and the alertness in her eyes that she was assessing his every move, searching for his weaknesses. He didn't know how to tell her that he was too tired to put up any defenses. But, he suspected she already knew that.

"And how is everyone faring this night?" she asked, after a minute of strained silence.

"Still shellshocked, but surviving. As we all are." He smiled, though it did not reach his eye, and took a pull from his bottle. The alcohol was sharp, strong, licked along his gut like fire. So different than the complexity and smoothness of the drinks on Asgard.

"They're a strong people," she softly said, then gave him a rueful look. "You know it's weird...I spent so much time – so many centuries – trying to forget Asgard. I fled to the farthest corner of the galaxy just so I wouldn't be reminded of it, and I'd almost convinced myself that I didn't miss it at all. But, now that it's gone, I can't stop thinking about all the things I'll never see again, and it's..." Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. "Well, I suppose I don't need to spell it out for you."

"No, you don't." His eye burned with unshed tears as he studied the warm amber of the liquid in his bottle. It was exactly the color of the sunset over the Asgard mountains. Mountains he'd allowed Surtur to obliterate, along with the rest of his home. Their home. That was what he was now: Thor Odinson, God of thunder, King of a refugee people, Bringer of Ragnarok.

Destroyer of Worlds.

A warm hand closed over his. When he glanced up, Valkyrie's eyes were filled with a warmth and sympathy he never would have expected from her. "I am truly sorry for your loss."

He nodded; he dare not try to speak. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many small griefs he wanted to share, but he couldn't find the words. He would never again sleep in his childhood bed or stride along the golden hall of the throne room to see his parents welcoming him home. He would never again take a walk among his mother's famed gardens, inhale the rich scent of myrtle, juniper and borage. He would never wander through his father's vault and marvel at the treasures within, plotting his own adventures and how he'd fill it to bursting with his own conquests. Summers spent at the crystal-clear waters of the lake, winters up in the majesty beauty of the mountains, foot races with Loki along the rainbow bridge, riding his horse along verdant fields in the spring, feasts in the Great Hall after a worthy battle. Volstagg and Hogun and Fandral, his best friends, his most valiant companions, all of them gone, like they never were.

At least Sif was safe, exiled as she was. Thor needed to reach out to her as soon as he saw his people delivered to Earth. They could mourn their fallen friends together, and drink toasts in their honor. Their names and sacrifices should live on through eternity, their songs sung until the end of days.

They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until Valkyrie finally shifted. "Do you remember Gróa's chant?"

He started in surprise, even as he nodded. "Of course. The Lays of Svipdag, we learned it as children."

"Good," she replied. "There's some hope for our people yet, then, if the old songs are still being taught." She rested her cheek on her hand, her look tranquil now. "Sing it to me."

"I...what?" he asked, certain he'd misheard.

She brought her bottle to her lips again, and took another healthy swig. "Not the whole thing, just the spells. Bless our journey so we may reach this Earth of yours safely."

Thor gave her another minute to laugh, in case this was some sort of joke, but she just looked at him like she'd be content to wait forever for him to comply. Every inch a queen expecting obedience. In the end, it was easier to accede to her wishes and brokenly croon out the words to a song he'd been singing his entire life, the words grafted into his very bones:

Þann gel eg þér fyrstan,
þann kveða fjölnýtan,
þann gól Rindur Rani:
að þú um öxl skjótir
því er þér atalt þykir;
sjálfur leið þú sjálfan þig.

Þann gel eg þér annan,
ef þú árna skalt
viljalaus á vegum:
Urðar lokur
haldi þér öllum megin
er þú á sinnum sér.

Þann gel eg þér inn þriðja,
ef þér þjóðár
falla að fjörlotum:
Horn og Ruður
snúist til Heljar meðan,
og þverri æ fyrir þér.

Þann gel eg þér inn fjórða,
ef þig fjándur standa
görvir á gálgvegi:
hugur þeim hverfi
til handa þér,
og snúist þeim til sátta sefi.

Her eyes were shining, luminescent, her lower lip trembling, when he paused for breath. His own body was trembling with too many emotions to count. He hadn't thought about the meaning of the song in a long time, a mother's benediction for her son before a long, treacherous journey across unknown lands.

"Is my singing that bad?" he joked, weakly, to try and dispel the heaviness of the air.

"No," she replied, quiet and indulgent, her voice thick with compassion. "Not bad at all."

His mouth was on hers the next moment, the kiss fleeting, but the kick of it still managed to knock the breath from his lungs. When he pulled back, she was looking at him with an indecipherable expression. "I'm sorry," he started, contrite and more than a little ashamed at his actions, "I should not have presumed –"

She fisted his shirt in her free hand and yanked him forward, cutting off his apology with another kiss. This one deeper, harder, set both his body and soul alight with crackling electricity. Her lips tasted of ripe viddas gull berries – sweet, yet tart, with a bite that reminded Thor of summer, and days long gone. She tasted like home.

They were both breathing hard when they parted, and her hand had wandered up to the back of his head, thumb scraping along the short bristles of his hair. "This won't change anything," she told him, softly, but the meaning was unmistakable.

"I know," he replied, with a sad smile. "I appreciate the honesty."

She set her bottle and his down on the table, then swung her leg over his, straddling his lap with ease, the weight of her on his thighs warm and so very welcome. She framed his face with work-rough, yet gentle, hands. "I won't change for you, and I certainly can't help you be a good king, nor can I bring back what's been lost."

He rested his own hands on the small of her back, felt the supple strength and the heat of her body through the thin material of her shirt. "I don't want to you be anything other than what you are," he answered, solemn, even though his blood was racing the way it did before a rousing fight. She was glorious in arousal, flush from their kiss, almost as glorious as she had been in battle, taking on Hela's army.

"I'm not here because I seek your counsel, and I certainly don't think I can make you forget all you've lost." He brushed his lips over hers, seeking, asking, yearning. He wanted to memorize every inch of her until he knew nothing else. "All I can offer is companionship," he said, then added, with a lightning-fast grin, because he thought he had a good enough idea about her by now: "And a partner who won't break under a little rough handling."

No, this wouldn't solve anything, and it wouldn't even make them friends, but Thor thought maybe they both needed the reminder that they could feel. That, under the weight of all of the burdens they carried, they were both still capable of laughter and desire and passion. They were of Asgard, and Asgardians were a people of great appetites that went hand in hand with their great power.

Her eyes flashed with humor and barely banked arousal. She leaned forward, her hair a midnight curtain around them, blocking out the rest of the world, leaving only the heat they shared together. "And if I was very rough, your majesty?" she asked, darting forward to bite his lower lip, the sting of it sizzling through him, a jolt to the senses.

"Even better," he groaned, and allowed her to pull him with her to the floor.

***

Notes:

Thanks to Boop for the quick beta! All remaining mistakes are my own.

You can find me on Tumblr! :)