Hey, everyone! This was a dream I had–lovely, lovely Loki dream, sigh–and I had to write it down. If you've read After the Fall and Mirrors and Shadows, this is the same world. Something about lovesick Loki, so desperately wanting and keeping it all invisible because let's face it, his poker face is impenetrable–it just calls to me and is So. Damn. HAMANA. that I cannot stand it! So I had to write out this little flashback. This is obviously set before AtF, and after she's met Thor for the first time. Enjoy!

(edited because OMG TYPOS how the CRAPFACTORY did I let so many mistakes get through? The cool night HAIR on his face? *has huge WTF moment* Loki is not Cousin It! I blame working all night and trying to write at 3am... *hangs head in shame*)

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Loki took a moment to orient himself when he materialized on the quiet residential street, to tug the cuffs of his casual button-down shirt into place and smooth his hair. The Midgardian clothing felt odd but also wonderful, because it meant he was here. The sensations combined into an intoxicating whole–the cool night air on his face, the scents of honeysuckle and wisteria from the nearby gardens, and the sweet anticipation that his quick heartbeat thrummed through his veins.

Tonight he would see her again after far too long. And it didn't matter if it had been six hours or six months–it was always far too long. Asgard held so little for him now, and Midgard so much.

All because of a mortal college professor who had captured his attention one day and had never released him since.

Smiling slightly, he walked along the sidewalk at an easy pace. Yes, he could have teleported himself right to her door, but he liked to savor the anticipation of walking. Liked to watch her house materialize out of the darkness, a mirage made solid by each step bringing him nearer. Liked to listen, because at times she'd leave her windows open to the night air and sing along with her radio and he adored those unintentional serenades. Liked to picture how her face would light up when she saw just who was ringing her doorbell at this late hour.

Liked to imagine a different look on her face, a new glint in her eyes, a curve to her lips that would speak of a feeling beyond friendship. The way she'd blushed when he'd kissed her hand before departing with Thor–he hadn't been able to get that off his mind. Perhaps this time…

Loki turned off the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to her porch, cataloging the changes she'd made since he'd last visited with Thor in tow–two months ago by now, an unbearable eternity. She'd added several plants in brightly colored baskets hanging from the eaves, some kind of flower with petals of a rich, deep purple that was almost black. A new doormat, too, he noticed, a woven rattan thing with animal footprints around the border and a centered inscription which instructed her visitors to "WIPE YOUR PAWS" before entering. He pushed the little glowing button beside the doorframe, smiling now in earnest, and listened to the chime sound within.

Her footsteps pounded to the door and he raised an eyebrow–normally she was light-footed as an elf, but now she stomped like a troll. "Are you really so stupid that you came back for more? You think I won't really call the–" Taryn snarled as she approached the door, but abruptly went silent. He heard the locks turn and the chain slide an instant before she threw the door open. "Loki!" she gasped, startled eyes rising to meet his inquiring gaze. "It's you!"

He gave a little bow. "I certainly hope you were expecting someone else, or I'll have to wrack my brain for how I've wronged you," he replied smoothly, watching her rearrange her face–tucking away absolute fury and replacing it with surprised pleasure and welcome. Truly, she was nearly as adept at hiding her emotions as he was. Only the temper still flashing in those whiskey-dark eyes showed that she hadn't banished her anger from her mind any more than he had banished his curiosity about it. What could've put such a look on her face?

"Oh, Loki, you're the only man I know who has never done anything to piss me off," she laughed, and pulled him into a hug.

"Man?" he teased because in her world he was a god, yet he only felt like one in these moments. Closing his eyes to better savor the feel of her arms around his neck, her body pressed to his, the way she not only endured his embrace but sought it out, always welcoming him with a hug–this was a heaven he had never found in Asgard. She couldn't know that this gesture which was so casual for her to give was so rare for him to receive.

But she trembled in his embrace. He frowned–it wasn't cold. What had happened to her? The only man who has never done anything to piss me off… her words replayed in his mind, this time giving rise to darker suspicions.

She smiled again and pulled away–he let her, his arms aching with the desire not to. "How about the only male, then, oh mighty God of Mischief?"

"I'll allow that," he agreed, tapping her on the nose for making light of his title. She stuck her tongue out at him and led him inside. The click of the door closing behind them, locking out the night, creating a world where he was accepted, never mocked–it was one of his favorite sounds.

He devoured her with his gaze as she led him to the living room. Despite the lateness of the hour, she wasn't wearing her usual casual jeans or pajamas–tonight her curves were hugged in a delicious little green tank-dress that flared at the hip and ended at mid-thigh, and the long, sleek expanse of her legs exposed between that short hem and her strappy gold stilettos made his mouth go dry. A thrill ran through him to see her wearing his colors, even though it didn't mean on Midgard what it would have on Asgard.

But on the heels of that came an icy wave of jealousy that he immediately hid–no woman dressed like this to stay home. And anger followed that, because she was at home, alone and shaken, and Loki couldn't make himself wait any longer to find out what had happened to her. "So, shall we discuss who has offended you and how, so that I may devise the appropriate method of retribution?" His tone was casual, the offer teasing, and he was deadly serious.

She might not know that she was everything he'd ever wanted, or that he waited willing and able to move mountains at her whim, but she had to know at least this much–anyone who hurt her would find themselves dealing with a vengeful god from a pantheon that had little use for mercy or forgiveness. Perhaps he couldn't give her all that he yearned to, but he could at least give her that much.

She turned, caught his hand and squeezed it, smiling up at him as the anger finally bled from her gaze. "You're sweet, Loki," she said, and he mock-shuddered to hide the real shiver her touch provoked.

"Never tell anyone else that. Warrior culture, remember? I'll lose all my cred." An unladylike snort of amusement triggered his laughter in response, but he wasn't letting go of it so easily. "Come, now, I haven't eviscerated anyone is far too long and I fear to lose my skills. I suspect a worthy cause awaits. Tell your god what's happened, my tender little mortal, and let me make it all better," he added, waggling his eyebrows.

She laughed again, music to him, and finally nodded. "All right, as long as you stop calling me your tender little mortal. It makes me feel like dinner."

And oh, but there was a thought guaranteed to return to him in the dark hours he spent alone in his chambers in Asgard, the trigger of a thousand fantasies waiting to enthrall him. "You're stalling," he said, forcing his thoughts back on track and very aware that she had forgotten to release his hand.

Unfortunately, that made her let go and turn away. "Just a stupid man being stupid," she grumbled as she entered her kitchen and started to open a bottle of wine for them to share–something of a tradition when he visited. She would ready the wine while he magicked a fire into being in her fireplace, and they would sit on the thick rug before the dancing flames and talk until either the wine ran out or dawn lit the sky. (And if the bottles often seemed to remain half-full indefinitely and the night stretched far longer than was strictly possible, well, Loki was admitting nothing.)

"Stupid men often are stupid," he agreed, lighting the fire with a wave of his hand and trying not to imagine the worst. "I believe that's usually how they get that particular reputation."

She snorted again. "Well, this guy was very stupid."

"You're drowning me in details," Loki replied dryly. "Oh, my aching brain. Please, mercy, have pity. There's only so many specifics I can absorb at once."

"Smart-ass," she shot back, and then she was back in the living room and handing him a glass of wine. He mock-toasted her in thanks for the insult. But her smile faded as she sank down onto the rug beside him and finally sighed. "Okay, fine. A new professor in the Math department asked me if I'd like to go dancing at this little place he knew–it sounded fun so I agreed. Well, at first I thought he'd stood me up, but he showed up just a little while ago, not only late, but drunk too. The only reason I even answered the door was to show him what he missed out on–" she waved a hand, indicating the sexy dress, her shining red hair, the long legs curled beneath her, as if Loki needed to be reminded of just how desirable she was, "and to tell him to go fuck himself. But as soon as I opened the door…" She glared into the fire as Loki's unoccupied hand clenched into a fist. Her hesitation gave him time to imagine all sorts of horrible things before she finally finished. "Let's just say we had different kinds of dancing in mind."

Loki heard every word she didn't say. "Did he harm you?" The question was gentle, calm, and he felt nothing but wrath and fury. It took a conscious effort to keep his anger from literally shaking the walls. How dare that insignificant insect even attempt to touch this woman? How dare any mere mortal think they were worthy of sharing her bed?

"No, no, he didn't get that far," she assured him, waving a hand as if to brush away the incident. "He was too drunk to take a hint but I did get my point across. He's going have a black eye to explain to his students on Monday, and if I'm lucky I broke his nose as well–and you can imagine what these shoes did to his, ahem, gentlemanly region. He'll be limping for a while, that's for damn sure," she said with satisfaction.

Loki had to fight down a snarl of pure rage. He reached out with his magic and found the psychic residue of the events on her porch. He felt the man's lust, saw him grab her, frighten her, try to kiss her, saw her fighting back–

Then Taryn met his eyes and whatever she saw there made reach out and squeeze his hand again. Her touch broke him from the vision, but not before he'd seen enough to make him long to hold that man's beating heart in his fist. "Hey, it's no big deal, Loki. It's all right, I promise. I'm just sorry I answered the door in such a crappy mood. He only left a couple minutes before you got here and I thought he'd come back. It's a shame you missed seeing my tae kwon do skills in action, though," she added, eyes twinkling. "Maybe you'd think twice before teasing me in the future."

Loki's fingers twitched, longing for his knives. "It is far from all right. Do not apologize," he murmured, and put his wineglass down before he accidentally crushed it in anger. A bruised groin, black eye and broken nose? Those would be the least of his worries when Loki found him. He had thousands of years of experience in the finest arts of pain, both giving and receiving, and he would enjoy making the worm beg for mercy.

No one, no one touched Taryn without her permission.

He looked down at her hands so delicate in his, saw the one that was beginning to swell along the knuckles, and raised it to his lips. A soft breath blown across the bruised flesh carried a healing spell that immediately returned her skin to its pristine state. Another offered her peace and calm, but only if she accepted it–unlike the bastard he would be visiting later, Loki would never force anything upon her.

When her hands finally stopped trembling in his, he knew she'd accepted what he'd offered. Her show of trust helped him begin to calm his own raging emotions. "I also wish I'd gotten here earlier. I would have enjoyed teaching him the consequences for mistreating a lady–although you clearly did not need to be rescued," Loki added with genuine admiration. She was not a natural fighter, but she'd taken those self-defense classes at his urging–as his feelings for her had grown, so had his fears. Compared to the Æsir, she was so fragile, so breakable, so mortal. And now her hard work had paid off. "I'm proud of you," Loki said, looking deep into her eyes so she'd see how much he meant it. "To use a Midgardian phrase, you kicked his ass quite satisfactorily."

She looked up at him with a smile and suddenly leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek. It was over before he could react–soft lips, sweet breath, teasing brush of her hair across his sensitive throat–and Loki was glad he'd put the glass down because he was positive he'd have crushed it from the jolt of reaction that shot through him. Such a simple touch, and now he burned hotter than the fire he'd kindled. "Thank you, Loki," Taryn murmured, her warm gaze holding his captive, and his heart felt far too large for his chest.

"Do you still wish to dance?" he asked abruptly, the words falling from his lips before he knew entirely what he intended to say.

She shook her head. "You're sweet to offer, but no. It's a bit too late to go out now anyway," she replied. Then she smiled. "Besides, I know how much you hate crowds."

It was true, Loki had always hated to spend his limited time with her in such places. He had so little time in her company and he didn't want to share those precious hours with anyone else. But he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her because they didn't have to leave in order to dance, and he needed to hold her right now.

"You are dressed to dance," he pointed out, and cast another spell that clothed him in his usual finery–leather and gold interwoven into royal armor, sleek black leather pants, tall boots, all of it capped by a flowing green cape–before she could reply. Another flicker of magic turned her radio on. Norah Jones's sultry voice filled the room like velvet as she implored her lover to come away with her. "And now I am as well. Will you really pass up the opportunity to learn some Æsir dances?" he added, holding out the prospect of knowledge to break her resistance.

It worked, as he'd known it would.

"Wow," she breathed, awe in the word as she stared at him, and Loki savored her obvious appreciation. "That is so cool." She was smiling now, her eyes full of wonder at these little tricks–how his heart swelled at her admiration, when he so often received mockery for such things! "Put it like that and you know I can't refuse."

That was what he'd been counting on. She let him pull her to her feet, then into his arms. One last spell, this one cast upon himself to ensure he didn't embarrass himself with the primal effect her nearness had on him, and Loki began to dance with her, leading her in a simple rhythm that wouldn't require much of his concentration–he wanted to use it all on soaking up the feel of her in his arms. After only a few moments, she briefly rested her head on his shoulder and sighed with contentment. "I'm so glad you came tonight, Loki," she murmured, and he closed his eyes and wanted so damn much it hurt. "How long can you stay?"

"Not long enough," he replied, speaking the truth–it was never long enough, never enough time to sate his longing for her. She lifted her head, disappointment writ large on her face. "I've only managed to sneak a few hours."

She made a visible effort to hide her dismay at his answer. And perhaps it was perverse, but he found knowing that she was just as upset by the shortness of his visit as he was strangely comforting. "Lots going on in Asgard?"

He smiled without humor. "We're in some rather heated negotiations with Alfheim," he replied, and that was also true, although he didn't feel the need to enlighten her that those negotiations were intended to end with him wedding one of their princesses to ensure a lasting peace. He would never agree to such a thing–his heart was Taryn's, even if she didn't know it, and he would never wed another while there was the remotest chance that she might one day return his regard–so there was no point in mentioning it to her. "Also the dwarves are once more attempting to steal territory from their neighbors, our allies. They seem to enjoy picking fights they cannot win. The All-Father is set on avoiding another war this time, however, and wishes to resolve the issue diplomatically."

"And of course your silver tongue is needed to pave the way," she said, and it wasn't a question but he nodded anyway.

"It does rather help to avoid war when at least one person at the table can think a bit beyond the level of let's hit that annoying idiot with an axe," he said dryly, and smiled when she laughed. "And you? Anything exciting in your world?"

Taryn laughed again, this time ruefully. "All of my excitement happened tonight." Then she gasped and spun around, looking for her cell phone. "Oh, I forgot to call the police and report it! I'll be in so much trouble if Randall files charges against me first–"

"I will take care of that," Loki interrupted smoothly, pulling her back into his embrace and segueing smoothly into another dance.

"How?" she asked worriedly, then laughed when Loki simply raised an eyebrow. The answer to that was too obvious to speak. "God, I wish I had magic," Taryn sighed. "I'm so jealous."

Loki chuckled at the irony of it. In Asgard, his use of magic was a matter of shame, ridicule, disgust–a man choosing to study the mystic arts was bad enough, but his easy command of it, his innate skill with spellweaving brought dishonor upon the entire royal family. Unheard of, for a prince to use such power instead of relying solely on steel! How wonderful it would be to live in a realm where the power that was as much a part of him as his blood and bones was something to be envied, not decried–he could hardly imagine it. "What would you do with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Taryn smiled but didn't immediately answer. He liked that she thought about it–if he were to touch her mind right now, he was positive she'd be weighing outcomes, thinking of all the possibilities before she answered. Then she laughed. "Well, I'd definitely use it to find better guys to date."

Loki shook his head. That was one use of magic he didn't want to think about. "You don't need magic for that. Merely patience."

She raised an eyebrow. "One day my prince will come?"

Even he caught that reference and he forced his smile to be easy, relaxed. "He will," Loki assured her, the cape that marked him Second Prince of Asgard swirling around them as he spun with her, holding her, wanting her, loving her. "You merely need to recognize it when he does."

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... this was supposed to be the end of this. It's not. Silly plot-bunnies!