I.

A young girl playing in the gardens of Asgard, no older than he. The garden girl—no, the flower girl. That was what he would call her. She had hair the color of sunshine, like most of his kind, that shined and bounced like silk in the light. She laughed and smiled whenever she walked—sometimes danced—among the flowers, and it made her blue eyes glisten. He never saw her in shoes; she was always barefoot. Sometimes, she climbed trees and took naps in the thick branches.

When the sun went down, she crept from her sleeping place and went home—wherever home was—but she would always return when the realm had gone to sleep. She would climb onto her favorite rock among the red calla lilies and she would stroke their soft petals. Her face, though serious, would glow with mystery and adoration. And then, rarely, she would smile a smile so beautiful, it would take his breath away.

Then she would fall asleep, cradled by the garden, and as the years went by… he imagined that she came to the garden every night to be cradled in his arms. It was his garden, after all.

It took two years before he found the opportunity to ditch his brother and, most of all, his courage to go out into the garden and meet her. He made sure his brother was busy and would not interrupt them; he did not want to share the flower girl, not with anyone—especially not Thor. Thor might steal her away, take her to his garden, and she might like it better there. But there were many friends and ladies in Thor's garden… There was only her in his.

He drifted through the flowers, heart pounding nervously, and squinted in the sunlight. Sweat dripped off his brow. Perhaps today, she wouldn't come… She wouldn't come because she knew he was coming out to meet her. Perhaps today… she had grown tired of gardens and flowers.

Just as his heart had begun to ache and he had all but convinced himself to go back inside and pretend this had never happened, he saw a bouncing train of yellow hair and then a pair of clear, blue eyes turn in his direction.

He froze, stunned.

The girl smiled and walked over to him.

"I never knew anyone came to play here but me," she said. "Do you come here often?"

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Every day."

She smiled bashfully. "Me, too."

"What's… your name?" He swallowed hard, anxious for the answer to a question he'd yearned to ask.

"My name is Eris. What's yours?"

He swallowed again, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. He had scarcely heard her question past the gift of her name ringing in his ears. A second became eternity of terror mingled with admiration, and after three heartbeats—three eternities of gazing upon perfection—he told her his name.

"Loki," he said, "and this is my garden."

Eris frowned, her lovely brow dipping with concern.

"You're the prince. I'm sorry if I intruded…"

"Don't be," he said quickly. "It is no garden without a flower."

She laughed. "But you have hundreds of flowers here," she reminded him.

Did he? He'd forgotten what they looked like. He glanced around him and found their petals dull compared to her face. What were their names? He couldn't remember. If they weren't called Eris, he didn't want them. He wanted the most beautiful flower in all the realms in his garden or he didn't want it at all.

But… would it still be his garden? All of the best always went to his brother. Everything would be Thor's. He wouldn't lie that sometimes he was jealous. Sometimes. There were many obligations to pass to Thor that he wanted nothing to do with. Like the crown. He never wanted to be king. But then there were other things… father's affection, for instance… he desperately wished, for just one day, that father would speak to him with such a loving voice. It wasn't that he felt his father didn't love him; it was only very clear that while Odin loved his sons, he did not love them equally.

Loki tried not to let his emotions show on his face as he stared at her.

"Which is your favorite?" he asked, but he already knew the answer to that question.

"The red calla lilies," she told him.

Loki nodded and twisted his hand. Several strands of her hair knotted together and became a red calla lily that blossomed just above her left ear. She gasped and lifted her hand; her fingers gently touched the silky petals and a smile bloomed on her face. He smiled, too, at her joy.

"You can do magic," she breathed, awed.

"Only a few tricks, really," he admitted, quoting his brother's favorite term for Loki's talent.

"Not tricks," she corrected him. "Tricks are for trouble, and the only one that laughs is the trickster. This is something else."

"What else?"

"I don't know… But it makes people happy, not angry or sad."

"Are you happy?"

She nodded. "I am." She held out her hand. "Would you like to play together, Loki?"

The way she called his name caused his stomach to twirl anxiously. He wanted to take her hand, but it all felt too surreal. Surely, he was dreaming. Or he had imagined everything up until this point and, when he snapped out of it, he would be standing dumbly in front of his brother's newest friend. Had he just imaged the last few years? Did she even exist at all? Maybe he had made her up. Maybe she was just another trick of his that he had created out of his own jealousy. If he took her hand, would she disappear?

The trickster wouldn't be laughing then.

"You're too pretty for me," he whispered, almost convinced she was just an apparition.

She was the epitome of beauty in Asgard, and he was nothing more than a black sheep next to his beautiful brother. He loved his brother; Thor was his best friend. But sometimes he resented how lonely being with his best friend could make him feel.

"What?" she giggled. "What do you mean?"

"One day, others will see just how pretty you are, and they will want you to play in their gardens, and you'll go because they will be beautiful like you."

"I don't know…" she mumbled, uncertain. "I don't really see a difference, but just in case, make me like you."

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Use your magic, and make me like you. Then, we won't have to worry about anyone bothering us, and we can play together all we want. Is that okay?"

Loki wasn't sure if this was real or if it was all just a figment of his magic, but he couldn't stop himself from living in the illusion. So he reached up and twisted his hand again. The petals of the lily melted into her hair and the red color slowly bled into every strand until her silky waterfall of hair was the color of her favorite flower. Those eyes, he thought, they had to change, too. But what color? He remembered the silver stem of the lily and how it sparkled in the moonlight. So her blue eyes became silver.

That's when Loki truly knew that he had in his garden the most beautiful flower in all of the realms.

II.

The torches on the wall danced and flickered across the old spines of countless volumes of booms in the great library of Asgard. She often spent her time here, reading and studying—but mostly waiting. Waiting for him. He always came. He was the only one that went looking for her there—the only one that came looking, for that matter. Not many aside from the great librarians found themselves in the archives. They were older now, and no longer played games in gardens. They haunted libraries, empty alleys, out-of-the-way verandas, and otherwise forgotten locations where they could be alone.

As she was bent over a book, legs and bare feet swinging idly beneath the table, he suddenly appeared behind her. He felt the tremor of surprise in her body as she flinched when his lips brushed her ear.

"I hate this part. It's so boring," he whispered, referring to the chapter of the book she had, until that moment, been engrossed in.

She twisted around at her waist, trying to hide her smile behind a scowl.

"Of course, you only like the exciting parts of a book," she recalled and he smiled. "Sometimes, the boring is necessary to set up the action," she explained as he went around and sat on the other side of the table.

"Yes, yes, I recall this speech before," he muttered, amused; he pulled his horned helmet off and set it in front of him. He was still in the green and silver armor required of him.

"Shouldn't you be at the banquet?" Eris asked, leaning over her book to peer at him. He smiled and leaned forward to whisper his reply.

"Yes, but it was just as boring as that part of the book you're reading, and you know how I handle that."

"You skip ahead," she laughed, and he shared her mirth.

"Yes, exactly." He lowered his gaze to the page beneath her fingers and then returned to her silver eyes. "Page two-hundred and thirty-four."

"Are you serious?" she asked, but she was already flipping ahead. "Another battle?"

"Not for awhile yet."

"No? This should be interesting for you to remember the number…"

Loki watched as she settled on the new paragraph and began reading. He wondered if he had been too forward to call it to her attention. The scene he referred to was a love scene, when the main characters finally confess their feelings for each other and make love deep in a magic forest. He had read it dozens of times, cast him as the hero and Eris as the heroine and the magic forest as their garden.

He felt anxious as he watched her smile fade and her cheeks begin to blush. He fought control over his breathing as he watched hers become unsteady. Her fingers curled nervously against the pages and he noticed her eyes flitted over the text so purposefully that he knew she was avoiding making eye contact. He swallowed hard and found the task difficult, and the seconds ticked by so slowly that he became lost in the quiet hum of the empty library.

Eris' brows suddenly shot up and her cheeks darkened. Finally, she looked up, and nervously laughed.

"Loki!" she hissed. "What is this?"

"What?" he gasped, feigning ignorance. "Did I send you to the wrong page?" He got up and came around to sit next to her. Of course he didn't give her the wrong page; the number was burned into his brain. But he checked, just to be closer to her. "Allfather, what are you reading, shameless woman. This isn't at all what I was talking about. No, it must have been forty-four, when the winebearer assassinates the king's brother—"

"Loki!" she exclaimed, lightly nudging his arm. "You're spoiling it."

"Did I?" He peered down at her. "But you skipped ahead…"

She flushed again and looked back at the pages. He leaned closer, examining the words between her hands, and then glanced at her face.

"Reading it again? Did you enjoy it that much?"

She snapped the book closed, embarrassed, and he laughed.

"Well, I can't help feeling it was a long time coming," she told him. "This is the third song of these heroes. There's been something between them for a long time now." Eris cleared her throat. "It was romantic. I'm not… mad that it finally happened."

"Not mad?" he echoed, then caught her gaze when she glanced at him. "That's a curious take on your feelings."

"All right, you know what? I'm happy. I've been waiting for him to tell her she loves him, he did, and it was romantic, and everything that happened between them was only natural. So, yes, I'm 'not mad', as you pointed out."

"Well," he began, "I'm glad we can be honest with each other."

The look she gave him after that was like a soft harpoon straight into his chest. It pierced him, hooked him, and drew him in. He didn't even realize he was moving until he heard her shaky breath and realized their faces were just inches apart.

The sudden laughter startled them apart, and Thor sauntered into the library with his usual four friends hanging behind by the door.

"We saw you go, and father wondered where you'd slipped off to, so we followed you to bring you back to the celebration," Thor explained, still laughing. "I didn't realize you were off to meet a lady." He shrugged. "Or that you even had one. Such secrets, brother." Thor plopped down at the table. "Why haven't we been introduced?"

"Brother, this is Eris. Eris, my brother, Thor," Loki said, agitated by the interruption. Of all the devils to be caught by, his brother was the worse. He would never live it down. Not to mention, he had managed to keep Eris a secret all this time. He had been careless out of anticipation to see her.

His jaw clenched as Thor lifted Eris' hand and gently kissed her knuckles.

"My lady," his brother murmured. "Has my brother told you just how beautiful you are? Your hair is as vibrant as the roses in full bloom, and your eyes glitter like droplets of moonlight."

"Your drunk," Loki snapped, no longer enjoying himself. He wanted nothing more than to take Eris and leave, but he could not do so without being followed, without being further pestered by his brother.

"Perhaps," Thor conceded. "It may impede my abilities, but not my sight."

"Just your brain…"

Thor laughed out loud, striking the table in revelry. He finally held his hands up in surrender and climbed off of the bench.

"All right, I see when I'm not wanted. But you should come back to the feast, brother. And bring Eris. I'm sure father would love to meet her."

"I'm sure," Loki replied.

Thor nodded to his brother and then bowed to Eris. "My lady. I hope you'll come. I would request a dance." And then he turned and left, dissolving into another fit of laughter once he reached his friends. They could be heard all the way down the hall, and then finally there was quiet.

Loki's gaze was transfixed on the table in front of him. He was so thoroughly embarrassed, he had no idea how to face her. Not only were they interrupted in a moment of potential intimacy, but his brother had flirted with her, charmed her, and drawn out Loki's jealousy with a simple kiss on her knuckles. Thor had made an ass of him.

Not to mention, his worst nightmare may yet come to pass: that Eris would meet Thor and, like every other woman in Asgard, fall for him.

Loki cleared his throat and stood up, having to get away, get some space. She was too close. She could probably read his every thought. He had to walk out his nerves, steady his breathing.

"I'm not sure I see the family resemblance," Eris began with a hint of amusement in her tone.

"I'm sorry you had to meet him like that," he told her. "He's a decent man, and my closest friend." The words, however true, were hard to choke out at that moment.

"Of course." She took a deep breath and exhaled it loudly, like she was purging something from her lungs. "Are you going to go back to the banquet like he said?"

"No," Loki scoffed, and glanced back at her—far enough away that she wouldn't be able to read the disappointment in his eyes. "You should go, if you want. No one will question your presence if Thor is at your side. Though I can't promise he'll be much of a dancer in his current state…"

"Loki…" Eris smiled shyly. "What makes you think I'm not already where I want to be?"

For a moment, he was taken aback. While it wasn't a confession, she had just told him that she preferred him over his brother. She had met Thor, had an opportunity to be one of the women at his side, and she had turned it down. Suddenly, everything was perfect again.

Loki smiled wide and came back to the table, though he did not sit down.

"Then, I guess, you wouldn't want to go out to the garden with me."

"I would like that," she told him, standing up.

"But you wanted to stay in the library."

"I never said I wanted to be in the library."

Eris smiled, hugged the book to her chest, and headed for the door. Loki followed after her, steps so light it was as if he were walking on clouds. All her words seemed to mean is that the one place she did want to be was with him.

They crossed the palace grounds and made their way to his garden. As they entered, they immediately noticed a few of the guests of Odin's banquet had found a bench under a willow to perch on and boisterously chat. Loki moved Eris back against the wall into the shadows, and idly waves two of his fingers. After a moment, the vines of the willow began to snake up the guests backs, hissing and slithering as they took the form of serpents. The guests cried out, jumped up, and fled as fast as they could back to the palace.

Loki laughed, even when Eris gently punched his arm.

"Trickster," she mumbled, but no matter how much she tried to sound disappointed, he could tell she was just as amused as he.

"What's wrong with a bit of fun?" he wanted to know as they crossed over to the stone bench and their now-vacant seats. They sat down, side by side, and she opened the book again.

"I don't think they were having any fun."

"Ah, but you did," he pointed out.

"Just so long as I'm never on the receiving end of your tricks…" she mumbled.

"I promise," he said seriously. "All of my good magic I save for you…"

He twisted his hand and a soft globe of light just bright enough to light her pages appeared above them. Her gaze darkened under that light, and the same harpoon struck him in his chest. He would have tried kissing her again, but after the first failed attempt, all of his courage to do so had fled. So instead, he scooted close so he could lean on her shoulder.

"Read to me?" he asked.

"All right, but its only the boring stuff. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he replied, and closed his eyes.

III.

The sun was bright in the sky as Thor and Loki headed back to the castle from another of their lessons. They joked about their finer moments and the not-so-fine-but-definitely-memorable moments of the day's lesson, trading laughter, insults, and even compliments.

As they climbed the steps, Loki patted his brother's back and nudged him inside.

"I'll see you later tonight," he told him. "I have things to do."

"Things to do," Thor echoed, "like shower. You smell like a horse. Now come on."

"Not half as bad as you," Loki replied with a grin. "Seriously, go on."

Thor studied him, narrowing his gaze until the light clicked on in his slow-witted brain.

"You're off to see your lady." Thor suddenly seemed very interested and turned away from the door. Loki shuffled anxiously, and shook his head.

"She is not my lady. She's my friend."

"Aye, and I'm king of the Jotunheim. Why do you deny it so? Does father know you've found a woman?"

"No, he doesn't know." Loki eyed Thor. "You didn't tell him?"

Thor laughed. "I was drunk; I barely remember meeting her. But, no, I didn't tell him. That's your job."

Loki stared at his brother a moment longer, considering his words, and then shook his head and found something else to look at.

"No, she and I are only friends."

"Who are you out to convince?" Thor wanted to know. "Me? Or you?"

Loki all but glared at the path they'd just taken, refusing to look at him.

"I have seen the way you look at her, brother," Thor continued, and then his tone became darker. "And I have seen the way she looks at you." Thor paused seriously. "She looks at you like the Midgardians look at us."

Loki finally gave his brother eye contact.

"She looks at you like a god, and sees no one else."

"And so I am," Loki replied quietly, voice hushed as his chest swelled internally with pride, "her personal god."

Thor only shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, but Loki understood now that his brother was jealous—even if it was only a little bit—that there was a woman, a beautiful woman who regarded him so highly… and no other.

Loki smiled, a wide and clever smile.

IV.

He saw her outside of his window the moment he stepped out of the bath. She was below in the garden, on her favorite rock, lying on her back with her face tilted to his room. She was looking for him, waiting for him to notice. A thrill went up his stomach and he quickly dressed in a thin, black tunic for a hot, summer night, matching pants, and ran his fingers back through his hair. He paused in front of a mirror to make sure he looked his best and then quickly went down to her.

As he came close, he realized she wore a simple, white dress tied to her body with a single black cord. She smiled and pushed herself up on her elbows, long, red hair gliding over her shoulders.

"Have you been waiting long?" he asked, leaning onto the rock and staring up into her silver eyes.

"Waiting?" she repeated curiously.

"You weren't waiting for me?"

"Was I?" She smiled. "Then what took you so long?"

He pressed closer and whispered, "I was in my bath. Should I have called you up?"

She blushed and shook her head.

"What are you doing here?" he wanted to know. She lifted a book from the other side of her and showed it to him. "Ah."

"I was wondering if you might create another light for me before you head to sleep. I just felt like being here but I can barely see the pages."

"I accept," he nodded, "if you'll read to me awhile."

"I… You know I can't refuse."

He grinned and leaned closer to her. Then suddenly he was beside her, leaning into her ear, and her whole body jumped, startled.

"I like that I can still surprise you," he whispered.

She swatted at his stomach and her playful slap rebounded off of his hard abdomen. He chuckled and laid back onto the rock. After a moment, she laid down beside him, opened up the book, and waited for him to create a light globe. He did, and she began.

Loki closed his eyes and listened to the words flowing out of her mouth. He didn't recognize them. She had found a book he hadn't read. How long had she scoured the library for something like that? He smiled to himself and listened, interested because it was her voice telling the story. He got lost in her voice, in the rise and fall of her tone, in every inflection. He almost didn't hear the words.

Until her voice became unsteady and the topic veered into something scandalous. It was a love scene worthy of rivaling the one he had had her read to herself some years ago. Her voice was shaky, hesitant. He could tell she wanted to read it as though it were normal, but it was impossible. He couldn't listen to it as though it weren't strange.

Oh, but to hear her uncertainty, her vulnerability, her shyness. To hear her, in that voice, talk of gentle touches and passion-filled kisses. To hear her say the words, 'I love you' even read from a book as they were…

Loki suddenly sat up and stared off into the distance. He realized, in that moment, he had waited too long and was now beyond his limit, beyond his control. He had been her friend, her confidant, and she had been his. He had secretly loved her since the day he met her.

"Loki?" he heard her anxious voice call out to him. "It's strange, isn't it?" She sat up next to him and closed the book. "I didn't know that sort of thing was in here. I'm sorry. Let's just skip ahead, all right?"

"No," he whispered, but perhaps only he heard. "No," he said again louder, this time sure of himself. He twisted around to look at her confused expression. "Keep reading."

Perplexed, she looked down at the text and, with trembling fingers, opened back up to the page. Then, in a timid voice, she continued. He reached out and gently touched her throat, felt the vibrations of her voice, adored the nervous flick of her eyes to his.

"Keep reading…" he whispered.

And every action she described, he made his touches a reward. He shifted behind her so that he could freely glide his fingers through her hair. He had always wanted to touch her hair this way. He wasn't sure why he never had the courage to do it before. He pulled her curtain of hair aside so that he could admire her neck and shoulder. As she read, he let his fingers stroke her skin with the lightest of touches.

Her breathing hitched, fluttering in her chest, but she pressed on through the scene. He bent down and placed a tender kiss right where her shoulder met her neck, and he heard her wince, but there was no pain or disgust in the sound she made.

"Loki…" It was half question, half begging. Begging for what? For him to stop? For more? For answers?

He lifted his lips to her ear. "Keep reading," he encouraged her.

And she did, never once protesting, although the sense of her words was lost as she struggled to maintain the steadiness of her breathing—a task she failed at—and to stifle any noises that his touches provoked. He no longer cared about the words; he wanted the noises. He told her to keep reading, but he wanted to steal her voice, redirect it.

And he did.

His fingertips lightly caressed her skin, explored her back, her neck, her shoulders, her arm, her waist. And he kissed her neck, let his tongue taste her flesh, and drifted across the space between her shoulder and her jaw. She cleared her throat, took long pauses, and rushed sentences to try to trap her winces in her throat.

Until he found the most sensitive place on her neck. As he kissed and licked, she suddenly cried out, tilting her head back in blatant pleasure. Loki lifted his head, noticed her trembling fingers barely grasping the book, how red her face was, how beautiful her expression had come to be. In all of their many years of knowing each other, he had never seen her make that face. Not once. And why? It was the most beautiful expression she'd ever made.

How many other sensitive places would he find? He was anxious to discover them all, every single one of her secrets.

Loki lifted his hand to her throat, turned her face in his direction with a gentle finger to her jaw. He placed his palm delicately over her cheek, lost himself in her silver eyes, the eyes that he gave her, that were only for him, that worshipped him as a god. He bent into her and pressed his lips to hers, overwhelmed by the softness, and a tremor of desire rocketed through his entire body.

When he leaned back enough to look into her eyes, he saw that they were misty, as though drunk.

"Should I keep reading, my lord?" she whispered. He shook his head.

"No."

Eris met his mouth again in a fervent kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, let her fingers tangle in his hair. He scooped her into his lap, held her curving form against him, and gently tugged the black cord until the knot came loose and her white dress slumped into the crook of her arms.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered hoarsely as he admired her blushing body. She winced when he pressed his lips to her chest and hungrily sought her skin.

"So are you," she replied breathily. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever met."

Loki paused. It couldn't be true, could it? But she had never lied to him. Suddenly, he no longer wanted any of the things his brother had. He no longer wanted the attention, the affection, the friends, the praise. He had them all from her. He didn't need multitudes of followers. He only needed her.

"Eris, you'll never leave me." It wasn't a question, but he still felt uncertain as he said it.

"Never."

"Tell me," he whispered as he leaned up to kiss along her neck. He felt her lips against his ear.

"Not if the nine realms collapsed would I care, not if you were with me. I want to be with you—I only want to be with you. I want to share in everything you love. Whatever it is, I will learn to love it, too. I can be all that you desire." She moaned, provoking him further. "Make me like you, Loki…"

"You are everything I desire," he mumbled against her skin. He pulled her mouth down into his and kissed her hungrily. He pulled her dress away from her and felt her fingers tentatively curling into his tunic. "Don't worry, no one will see," he promised her between kisses. "I've made sure of it."

She lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it somewhere behind them. Her fingers on his bare back, gently clawing, felt incredibly good. Loki was likewise enthralled with her body; he couldn't stop touching her, exploring her—not with his hands or with his mouth. Her moans and soft winces were addicting, the best sounds his ears ever heard.

"Tell me you want me," he whispered.

"I want you," she replied.

The words burned hotly in his ears. He laid back, bringing her down with him. He jerked her dress away from her feet and dropped it on the ground, then she finished undressing him. They tangled together, naked, explorative, hungry. Each touch was a new sensation, overwhelming, and he couldn't stop himself from scouring her body for more of her sensitive places. He found two before he lost his control, two places that caused her to squirm, her nails to scrape the stone, her gasps and moans. And then, waiting became too painful.

He knelt over her, knees between her thighs and hands flat on the rock on either side of her head. He stared into her eyes, followed the trail of her tangled, silky hair, watched the rise and fall of her chest, outlined her curving body. And then his eyes lifted back to her face and lingered on her swollen lips, hungry for more of his kisses.

"I want you," she said again, and so he gave himself to her.

With one powerful thrust, he claimed her, and the pleasure was unlike anything he had ever experienced. But as he began to rock in and out, he noticed her face contorting with pain. He scooped her into his lap and sat back on his knees. That's when he saw the blood on their thighs.

"I've hurt you," he whispered, dismayed.

"No…" She shook her head.

He gently touched her face, brows dipped in concern. He caught the silver tears that fell from her eyes with his thumbs and swiped them away.

"I'll take the pain away," he promised her, but she shook her head again.

"Don't. I want all of the feelings you give me. The pleasure and the pain."

Loki's heart ached with love. He kissed her and held her close, hugging her, kissing her, whispering sweet words in her ear. And he made love to her until she writhed atop him in pleasure and he was so far beyond his limit that he couldn't hold back. They peaked with waves of ecstasy rippling through their bodies.

Eris lay gasping beside him, breath hot and sweat dampening her body. Loki wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, laid her head on his chest, and closed his eyes.

"Your body is so cold," she murmured, idly twitching with the aftereffects of their love-making still undulating through her.

"I don't know why, but I've always had a cooler temperature than most."

She snuggled closer to him. "It's nice…" He heard her open her mouth then close it again and waited patiently for her to find her courage. Finally, she spoke. "I have always wanted to touch you like this. To be held by you like this."

"Believe me, I have always wanted to," he told her with a smile. She pushed herself up onto her elbow to look him in the eyes.

"What made you?"

He pushed her hair out of her face and stroked her brow and cheek.

"I exhausted my self-control," he replied honestly.

"What took you so long?" she asked, and he laughed. She reached out and thoughtfully caressed his face.

"What are you thinking?" he prompted as he turned his head into her palm and kissed it.

"How perfect you are…" she answered, smiling. He frowned, wondering if he heard her right. She giggled. "You question yourself so often. Your brother may be the ideal Asgardian, but you do not live in his shadow. You are a warrior, powerful and quick, but you are also smart, and the most clever man I've ever known. Your brother is carved from stone. You are a living shadow…" She leaned down and gently kissed him, then whispered against his lips, "You are not lacking, Loki… your brother is."

He suddenly gripped her arms so tightly that her breath hitched in surprise.

"I love you," he told her.

"And I love you," she said.

Loki held her close, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were cuddled in his bed and she was sleeping soundly in his arms.