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Why did they love each other? They smiled and laughed together, savoured every moment, every kiss, every touch. Love. Puck accepted their game, the playfulness and mischief without obligations. Delightful madness. Loki’s creative chaos.
Their dance over the abyss, of fire and wind, of a bird in a cage and carefree freedom.
Loki called them a couple, without clarification, without doubt, and for Puck, that was enough. “Couple” was already a weighty word, full of meaning. With Loki, it was always like that—ambiguous, he thought he was the smartest, never noticing the obvious: everything he did or said came from fear, from an innocent, genuine feeling.
Puck was allowed to be closer than anyone else, to watch Loki sleep, to stroke his hair. Loki liked it—it was a permissible mischief.
Puck understood his own uniqueness. His tenderness and kindness kept Loki’s pain in check.
Loki savoured their intensity and passionate sex, shamefully he surrendered to Puck, the mischievous fairy who never feared him.
Puck met Loki utterly alone and confused. Loki feared revolving doors in shops and didn’t know how to use lifts. All he had was his stubbornness and charming temper. Loki disliked being vulnerable; his entire being trembled with anger when others saw his fragility, but Puck wasn’t afraid of Loki’s emotions. Even a god needed someone.
Loki could set everything ablaze, yet never let the fire harm Puck.
Loki preferred to manipulate, controlling everything through Puck’s subtle emotions.
Suddenly, Loki saw love and understanding in Puck, and Loki convinced himself to do anything to keep him close.
Loki could not, would not, speak of mutual love or attachment. He only knew how to have fun, keep his distance, and he got lost when his feelings for Puck grew deep, strong, vulnerable, unbearable.
Desire to be with Puck ceased to be innocent; it became desperation in Loki’s eyes, jealousy, anger, deceit.
Puck always noticed Loki’s longing to be loved through all his pain and hatred. Loki was merely a broken god, and all his feelings turned into vengeful flames.
Puck always knew this: Loki was in so much pain that he wants to hurt others even more.
Their relationship was built on a game of love. Puck saw the danger in Loki, his beauty and defiance, his desire to be cool and strong, and it was so sexy, thrilling, and breathtaking. Puck never prevented Loki from being himself. Loki responded with flirtation, and Puck’s awed gaze made the god’s spiny defences tremble. They allowed themselves to love each other without words, for it was far too complex to articulate. Fairy and Norse god. Awkward, yet Loki wasn’t as strong as he seemed. His fate pushed him forward, yet he could barely stand. To meet the expectations of all, especially the Aesir, Loki was cruel and selfish—and, truth be told, he liked that image—but inside, another side of him suffered and clung to every chance of being loved.
Beside Puck, Loki was cherished, he cried out “chaos”, and Puck stood nearby to correct him, “no, no, it’s just a joke.”
Puck was astonished to see Loki gradually learning to correct himself, to redirect himself. Puck was stunned, for he hadn’t expected Loki to even attempt to be good for him. Puck chuckled, Loki will never admit his true intentions, anyway.
It didn’t mean Loki had become better or changed. He had simply taken a course towards their love together. Loki felt dependent on Puck’s love, for no one else had loved him for a very long time. This was no longer a game; it was a bond they had built. Loki was undone by Puck’s tenderness and kindness, which he didn’t deserve, and feared he could not reciprocate in kind.
“You’re looking at me strangely,” Puck complained, yet smiled. “What are you thinking?”
Loki turned away.
The fireplace crackled, light spilling through the windows. Loki was a shadow on the clouded sky. He sat there in a grey dressing gown, barefoot, the firelight flickering across his face.
Puck immediately sat beside him on the sofa and drew him close.
“What’s wrong?” Puck’s voice was serious.
Loki looked into Puck’s eyes, crafting a reply.
“Puck, it’s not forever, you know?” Loki spoke with his impudent tone.
“Not forever?” Puck withdrew slightly.
“We, we are… together.”
“What?” Puck offended, moving away. “Why would you say that? We’re just having fun, aren’t we? You're already thinking about the end?”
Loki’s heart stabbed—just fun, ah. Of course. But he folded his arms over his chest.
“You’re driving me mad,” Puck admitted, “if you want to say something, just say it. I’ll listen. Or keep pouting—suits you perfectly.”
Puck froze in awe, a glimmer of innocent hope shining in his faerie eyes. Puck caught a glimpse of something in Loki’s eyes, maybe the fear of losing him? Loki bit his lower lip and deftly straddled Puck’s knees. Puck gasped and held him by the waist. Loki pressed his lips to Puck’s, as always, insistently. He even lifted slightly to deepen the kiss, and Puck moved his hands over his hips.
Puck moved his lips quickly, mirroring Loki, then Loki sank down, Puck’s hands sliding along his body, rising to his waist. Loki broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away, their noses still touching. Puck was enraptured. Always. Loki didn’t understand why Puck always smiled.
Loki placed his hands on Puck’s neck and resumed the kiss, taking Puck’s lips again, but this time his passion was slow, almost tender. Loki closed his eyes and allowed himself not to be afraid. Puck laughed softly, hugged Loki from behind, and responded with joy and mutual tenderness, as if he had been waiting for this moment for an eternity.
A beautiful kiss.
Loki moved intimately on Puck’s knees in time with the kiss, in complete silence, without sighs. Puck held him close.
But Loki’s eyelashes twitched, and their lips parted.
Loki freed himself from Puck’s arms, cast a glance of indifference, and walked away.
Puck raised his eyebrows in astonishment, frozen. For a moment, their souls touched.
Loki’s soul was so gentle, frightened, and sad—far from dark or dangerous.
Sadly, the soul was only 1/2 of Loki’s personality.