Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, Loki Laufeyson/Odinson, Thor Odinson, or Jane Foster. A/N:
WARNING: Contains sensuality.
I'd also recommend reading "Brother Avengers", though it's not as well done as "Fallen Star" in my opinion.
As a note that sort-of pairs with that, but is separate at the same time, this fic takes place post the Loki/Jane wedding in whatever universe that might be. Loki is on good terms with his family again, and is living in the palace. As he's never really had the time or affections to designate to a partner, our newlywed isn't quite sure how to handle his bride, who's waiting in their chambers.
Portions of this piece are tributes to Alydia Rackham's beautiful stories, and should be easily recognizable by her readers. The rest is simply a scenario I had stuck in my head, that needed to find its way out and into a published piece.
I hope you all enjoy this.
No, I will not be continuing it, at least not past its current rating.
Non-beta'd/edited. Reviews and critiques are welcomed and encouraged~
Thank you kindly for your time and Opinions,
-Selvine
Golden hues slid through the angles and curves of the Ӕsir palace, resonating with the ivory tones of the drapery as candles shed threads of light along the only paths available. A tall, dark form took silent steps, frenzied in pacing. The pallid white of his skin shone in the light, gold and silver and green seeming to pool in the tints and shades on his form. Lines furrowed in his brow and the usually-refined Prince held his lower lip between his teeth in deep thought.
The deep green of the Prince's cloak slipped and slid around him, clinging as a second skin no matter how panicked his movements became. Heat radiated from the material, friction taking its toll while the mischief-maker fought to gain his confidence. A rumble of deep laughter rolled through the hall and brought the young Jötunn to a halt, his guilded head turning to the source of the sound.
"Either my younger brother is sneakier than I had previously thought and has left his wife alone, unawares…" The broad-shouldered blonde called down the path, striding toward his smaller sibling, "Or Loki the Cunning, Master of Magic, and Maker of Mischief is afraid of lying with his woman." An arrogant smirk darted across the vast features of Thor's face, bringing a teasing glint to his eyes. Loki tried to retort, only to find his serpentine smile lost in the waves of confusion that rang through him.
"I fear I do not understand the ways of women, brother." The lithe Prince ran a hand up, over his helm as if to clutch at the hair hidden beneath, "I love her. I've wedded her. But what do I know of romance? Of physical affection? How am I to give her the night women expect to be perfect? She is…" A wrinkle formed across Loki's slender nose, and his next words came out garbled, "She is everything to me. I do not wish to disappoint." Swirling emerald eyes raised to meet the brown of Thor's, desperate and filled with quiet pleas.
Quietly, Thor chuckled and raised a hand to Loki's shoulder "You think too much, bróðir. The woman loves you, and you her. Speak with actions, and quick, lest you need that silver tongue to find your way free of her wrath. Tardiness does not speak well of a man." With a firm squeeze and a nod of strength and confidence in his brother, Thor turned and strode from the corridor, once again leaving the Wizard of Wit alone.
Turning back toward the rooms he and his wife had been gifted, Loki drew in a breath and glided down the hall. The ornate metalwork of the ceremonial boots the Prince had donned made not a sound, but leant to the slippery movements of the regal snake, offering him a couple more seconds to gather his wits. The great mahogany doors before him slid open soundlessly at his touch and Loki found his mind scattered to pieces once more. There, seated at an armoire and running a silver brush through her long, brown locks was his wife.
She didn't notice him immediately, she was too intent on the silken bristles of the horsehair brush taming her curls to be aware. She hummed quietly, a soft tune Loki thought he may have heard at some point during his stay on Midgard. It wasn't horribly familiar, but it was soothing and brought a calm to the newlywed through his mass of doubts. The wood slipped from his fingers and the hinges slid deftly back into place, the solid plank making a barely audible click as it did.
The humming ceased and the brush's stroke paused mid-hair as startled hazel depths flew wide. A sheepish grin slid across the Jötunn's face and his hands moved to remove his helm, gently placing it atop a chest at the foot of their bed as his eyes held hers in the mirror. Faeries danced in his chest as the young woman took him in and surprise turned to pleasure. When she stood and turned, revealing the luminescent steel-blue of her loosefitting sleeping gown, Loki found the faeries had left. Instead, warmth spread through his limbs and the desire to hold his wife took their place.
"Fyrirgef mik…" The Prince stood and faced the woman before him, stepping closer and rolling his hands in a few simple rounds of motion before pulling a flower from his special storage closet, "For my tardiness in returning to your side." Extending a hand, Loki offered the delicate structure to the newest of the Odinson clan, sincere hope hiding in the dimples of his cheeky smile.
"A purple hyacinth…" his wife raised an eyebrow "Perhaps you know more about the language of flowers in my world than I thought." Laughter teased the corners of her eyes, "Though I'd rather have my husband than an apology."
Loki frowned, "Jane, alskling, I didn't mean to-" In the moment it had taken for Loki to misinterpret her meaning, Jane had placed the stalk of flowers in the vase of floral gifts she had on the armoire and had moved to wrap her arms around her husband's neck. Delicate toes pushed upward on the polished marble floor, dainty but strong as the young woman pressed her lips to Loki's. Silence followed the sudden movement, as Loki recovered and allowed his eyes to drift closed. Two strong arms wound their way around the slight form of the woman beside him and lifted her until no weight rested on those dainty toes anymore.
Still-inexperienced, pale lips surrendered control to the pixie-light woman in his arms. Earnest, loving movement met restrained passion and longing, coaxing long-ignored emotions from deep within Loki's chest and into the gentle dance of lip and tongue. A quiet sigh escaped the Prince's mouth, a low whimper of need following, wrenched from his chest with the still-present fears of losing the one he loved. Long fingers slid their way up the dips and curves of Jane's back to slip beneath her hair and lock into the luscious waves at their base.
Teeth scraped against lip now, capturing tongue in playful taunts on occasion and drawing deep mewls of pleasure from the woman's throat. Dainty bronze hands tugged at thick black locks, while white wove through the doe-brown waves of satin flowing from her skull. Breathing became an art, entangled in their movements as every feeling held inside poured back-and-forth in a never-ending onslaught of emotion. Every tidal wave of sensation hitting their bodies rocked the pair, sending them further into the embrace of their partner. Harmony sang between the two, and as Loki's mood submerged deeper and deeper in desire, the candle light dimmed and the Prince moved.
Angular hips pressed forward, aching with need and demanding retribution for these long, tortuous kisses. Jane, moving backward on her toes, was seemingly just as eager. Neither partner wanted to pull away, but both wanted to delve deeper into the furthest reaches of the other. Pixie feet stumbled, and arms of marble scooped the falling bride up against an equally luscious chest.
Lips, hot with need, parted and joined in thousands of tiny successions, drawing whimpers of love and hope from the pair they joined. Trembling hands fumbled with the lace and ties of the gown, running over the surface as if to memorize every contour before the clothing was gone. A light sheen of perspiration ran along the Prince's brow and Loki groaned, the sound pouring into the mouth of his wife and reverberating through her soul.
Minutes dragged into what seemed like centuries as the Ӕsir Lord took his time, cherishing the gift that had been lain before him as if it might disappear if he stopped. Lips, tender and swollen with blood pressed firmly to Jane's before feathering along her mouth and down her jaw. A tongue, serpentine and clever in nature, slithered out across her throat and Loki found his senses sharpening, his eyes rolling back as every primal instinct tore at his body.
When Jane placed her hands on his and guided his pianist's fingers beneath her gown, the Giant thought his heart might explode. Soft and warm and pliant, the skin of her abdomen called to him and begged him to step forward. For one long, drawn out moment he hesitated, and then a whisper of encouragement drove him to the point of no return.
"Touch me" the words slid from his wife's lips, the command of a Queen to her King. Loki could do naught but oblige.
A/N: So yes, that's it. I hope you all enjoyed it and continue to enjoy what I post. :) My ratings will always be in the "safety" zone, however, so they'll likely always be T-M, even if such topics aren't included in whichever piece is posted. I'd rather avoid the reporting and the like. ." If I ever decide to write something MA, or more mature than something like this, I will likely leave a comment in an Author's Note on another piece so that readers can request links, or the document, or the like.
Anyway - I hope you enjoyed "Forgive Me", as it was a piece I definitely enjoyed writing.
The kiss still doesn't compare to the Garden Scene kiss in "Fallen Star", but hopefully it was enjoyed by the majority of you.
Please, share your thoughts and opinions! They're greatly appreciated and I WILL try to get back to you!
Thanks again for your time and your Comments,
-Sel