"Is it real, this thing?"

(Mary Lambert, "When You Sleep")

It's difficult, watching him sleep.

Most people find the act of sleep to be relaxing, something to look forward to after a long day. But I watch Loki sleep sometimes, and I wonder if he finds any peace, up there in the dark and uncertain space between waking and his dreams.

"Do Gods dream?" I asked him once.

"Do mortals trip and fall?" he'd snapped back. He had been in one of his more caustic moods at the time, so I'd returned to my activities and left him alone. But then he'd surprised me by reintroducing the subject later, while we readied ourselves for bed. "You wonder if we dream? Of course we do. But your dreams might as well be a blind man's as compared to mine. Everything I see that is beautiful is more intense, more powerful." His voice dropped lower. "And everything awful and terrible… is even more so." He'd never spoken of it again, and I didn't ask.

I look down at Loki's still face now, and a song he once read to me comes into my mind:

The night is a seal-cave,

A cavern shady and safe.

The sea murmurs riddles,

The moon is a lantern.

Sleep now, little friend,

With eyes so dark, yet bright,

Sleep, you are so tired,

Into the darkness sweet.

He loved the haunting voice of the singer, yet refused to sing himself, only reading me the lyrics first in their original tongue, then in English. "Faroese," he said. I had never heard of it before, but he said it was from the Faroe Islands, located between the North Atlantic Ocean and the Norwegian Sea. He liked the language, saying it reminded him of some of his studies as a child.

A web of dreams that shimmers

I will weave for you.

Of starcloth and of longing.

Come and swim out there with me.

"Starcloth," I say softly. What a beautiful word. It made me imagine the sky not as an endless space of untouchable matter, but a dark fabric spread lovingly across the heavens, speckled with stars and stained in trailing comet's tails. Loki would make fun of me, were I to tell him such things. He thinks I am too sentimental.

I smile to myself at that.

The open window casts tempting breezes across our still bodies, and I look down at my dark prince again. His face is not so peaceful now. I wonder if he is seeing one of those awful and terrible things he mentioned. Is it monsters from some unknown realm, wicked claws curling and teeth rending flesh from bone? A tentacled creature he once told me he'd captured in the waters of Asgard? Or is it something even more dreadful, even darker…

Loki whimpers softly, and I reach out to hold his limp hand tightly in my own. I struggle with my own nightmares, as well as bouts of insomnia, but I don't mind it so much. It feels like I'm guarding him, in a way. But I can't keep him from everything, and the pain in his face is what makes watching him so hard. I don't believe any monsters chase him behind those eyes. No… The demons that follow him are of his own making. His and his family's. I hear names, on the rare occasions he speaks aloud. Some I recognize, and others are completely unfamiliar to me. Sometimes he speaks in different tongues. But there is always the same angst, the same crying out as he wakes, black hair plastered to his cheekbones and his hand almost breaking mine from the pressure of his grip.

"What is it?" he'll gasp. His chest will rise and fall very fast, like a little boy startled. "Where is it?"

"There is nothing, darling. You're safe…"

Now and then the sound will also wake me, if I finally fall asleep from exhaustion (they are terrible sounds, his cries). His burning eyes will find mine eventually, and their wild expression will slowly calm as he steadies himself and we both work on trying to steady each other.

And so I lay awake again this night, watching him. Listening to him breathe. Only an hour passes before I sense the familiar rapid breathing, the tightening of his hand on mine, the lines drawn deeply in his face as he struggles. This time, he squeezes a little too hard.

"Loki." I grimace. I am not a god, not even a demi-god. And it's starting to hurt. "Loki, wake up."

He hisses something in a strange tongue, squeezing harder as he fights an unseen opponent. I desperately work to free my hand, using my other hand to shake his shoulder roughly. "Loki!"

A snarl rips from his throat, and I blink to find him on the other side of the room by the window, a knife clenched in his fist. He is crouched low like a predator, and I have unwittingly become his prey.

"Maybe I should start sleeping in my own bed," I joke weakly, waiting for his feral eyes to clear. Hoping they will.

He glowers at me furiously. "Why did you shake me?"

"You were hurting me. Your hand was—"

"WHY DID YOU SHAKE ME?"

I wince as his voice cracks on a raw and high pitch, closing my throbbing eyes. How can I reach my dark love, when he's like this? From a handful of times as experience, I speak as softly as I can. "Loki. It's me. Put the knife down?"

Only then does he look down, seeing the wicked weapon in his hand. His gaze lifts back up towards me. It's then his shoulders slump and I see his eyes finally clear, a frantic expression overtaking them. He drops the knife, climbing onto the bed and enveloping my face in his cool, soft hands. He stares at me intensely for a moment, then silently moves them over my body—my arms, my stomach, my legs—carefully searching for any mark or sign of injury.

"Loki." I say his name tenderly. "You didn't stab me. Only this. See?"

I show him my bruised hand, capturing his attention. He lifts his own, setting his long fingers against the dark blue and brown marks as if not wanting to believe they are his. His skin is so very pale against mine, I think. I never thought anyone could be paler than me.

"I… am sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay."

"No. No, it's not." He plops down onto the sheets on his back, throwing an arm over his head. I remain sitting where I am, looking down at him thoughtfully. I know this isn't a time to be sentimental, but I can't help admiring him a little. The way his lashes sweep up and down restlessly, the long, sinewy lines of his body... He is wearing a pair of black sweatpants I bought for him, with nothing covering his upper body except cobwebs of moonlight. He is handsome. Devastatingly so. He is strong, intelligent, and possesses a tongue that can wield words sharp as daggers while also laying waste to my heart.

And he is mine.

"What are you thinking about?"

I look up at his face. He's watching me now, his hands folded quietly over his stomach. I smile a little. "I'm thinking about how handsome you are."

I hoped these words would cheer him, as nothing can make my Jotun smile like flattery. But he only looks away, out the window at the brilliant full moon.

"Especially tonight." I shuffle closer, touching my finger to a lean muscle in his arm and tracing upwards gently. He gives a little shiver, and I lean down with a triumphant smile, touching my lips to his. He returns the kiss only briefly before touching my shoulders, pushing me away from him.

"You need to rest," he says quietly.

I shake my head, bending for another kiss. I can hear his sigh as our mouths meet again, a slow relenting, then the sweetest of sensations as my Jotun pulls me up to straddle his waist, his fingers slipping eagerly into my soft hair. I can feel my distraction working, and it makes my heart glow with feminine satisfaction.

"Pleased with yourself, aren't you?" he murmurs against my lips.

I smile broadly, breaking our kiss to dot smaller kisses down his sharp jawline to his ear. He inhales before I can reach that coveted spot, tightening his fingers in my hair and pulling my head gently back. I close my eyes with a quiet shudder, waiting in painful anticipation for what I know will happen next. Ah... Yes. His lips on my throat, clever tongue hot against even hotter flesh as he mimics my previous actions towards him, gliding up cruelly slow towards my ear.

"Please," I breathe.

He smiles, something I can feel as well by now as see it. He smells of leather and spring winds and he tastes… oh, he tastes like the color of my dreams when I can finally rest at night. Finally succumb to that elusive Sleep and do so while curled up in the cool, precious warmth of his arms.

"You're not paying attention," I hear him whisper. His warm breath on my ear pulls me back to the present, and I shudder again.

"I am, my prince. Most carefully."

"Oh?" He runs his nose up and down the side of my neck slowly, smelling me. "What did I just say?"

"That I wasn't paying atten—"

"Before that."

"You said…" I'm having difficulty speaking coherently. "Um… You said, 'Baby, you are the most beautiful and exquisite woman I've ever had the fortune to lay eyes on, and I'm now going to ravish you thoroughly."

Loki lifts his head from my neck, looking down at me in confusion. "'Baby?' Are you an infant?"

I sigh. That's really the only part he caught? "It's… a Midgardian endearment."

"It makes no sense."

"Just kiss me, damn it."

He obliges… eventually. I wonder if it's a habit of Asgardian princes (or Jotuns) to make their women wait before fulfilling a request. Then again, that might just be Loki. So many things are just that: uniquely, infuriatingly, beautifully Loki.

But he does fulfill my request, and oh, so much more. I sprawl ungracefully onto the pillows after what seems only minutes later, my lungs heaving for air and euphoria washing deliriously through my veins. He cuddles up against my back, spooning me protectively. He smells so delicious. I love that I can carry his scent with me.

"'Baby…'" he murmurs to himself. "How asinine."

"Let it go," I drawl sleepily in response.

He nuzzles his face into my neck, making those little purring and mewling sounds that I adore. I once compared him to a kitten, which raised his ire quite a bit, let me tell you. But he seemed more compliant with the idea when I changed his assigned animal nature to that of a powerful leopard, instead. (Nothing wrong with having a little ego.)

"I wish I knew magic," I whisper to him. I'm not ready for sleep, but my eyes droop.

He chuckles, his clawed hand raking pleasant trails up and down my bare side.

"I'm serious. Would you teach me?"

"I don't think that's possible, little human."

"Don't call me that. I hate it."

"Very well." He grins down at me. "That's not possible, my diminutive mortal."

I reach to smack the smirk off his face, but his hand catches my wrist lightning quick, bringing my palm to his mouth. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the skin, causing me to groan gently. "You are my little human, though you do not like the term. And I am pleased that you are here with me."

His velvety voice makes my insides feel like they're made of bubbles. I blush. "I am pleased you let me."

"But I think it would be wiser if you had your own room, for a few nights."

I frown. Hold up. Where did that come from? "Wait… what?"

He reaches over my body, touching long fingers to my bruised hand silently.

"Oh… Oh, Loki. Please don't worry about that. Hey! I just won't hold your hand!"

His dark eyebrows furrow. "Why were you holding my hand, anyway? What if I struck out in my sleep? Conjured a weapon?"

I roll my eyes a little. "I happen to like you, is all. And..." I sigh helplessly. "I was trying to protect you."

He looks truly perplexed, and to my annoyance, amused. "Protect me? How?"

"I thought… physical touch would comfort you. Maybe you would feel it in your sleep and… and then…"

"There is no way you could reach me in that state," he interrupts. "But I am touched by your concern, as always."

Once upon a time, his words would have been laced with sarcasm, but I now know him to be telling me the truth. I rest my head upon his chest, closing my eyes as anxiety and love course through me. "I know… I'm not much… But I would do anything to protect you. Anything."

I felt his hand slowly touch my hair, a sweet, rippling purr vibrating my cheek. "I know," he whispered, his voice impossibly soft. "But this is my burden, for the time being. Perhaps forever. I do not know."

"Please don't say forev—"

"Is it not enough I am blessed with your presence, little love?" He shifts a little, and I look up to see him smiling at me, his glowing eyes like pieces of sky just before sunrise. "I truly don't want you to go, as I like having you near when I wake… but I will if it's in your best interest. I don't want you hurt again."

"But is that not my burden—"

"Ah-ah!" He touches my lips. "That is a foolish argument, and I refuse to be party to it."

I sigh again. "I don't want you to suffer."

"Ditto, my human."

I can't help but smirk at his use of a Midgardian term, the word strange yet adorable on his lips. I turn into him, and his arms move to envelop me tighter while still being gentle. The vibration of his chest is the last thing I hear before finally drifting off to sleep, as he purrs quietly for my benefit.

I can't protect him from everything. I can't fight off his demons. But I can watch over him, if he'll let me. And I can let him do the same for me.

I love him. I love him so much...

"I know," he murmurs suddenly, and I realize I'm talking aloud. "Go to sleep."

I do, and in my dreams he follows me into a different space. One deep and quiet, spread out in surreal blues and green like his eyes and studded with golden towers and caves of whispering ice. And there we play, until the moon sheds her skin and the sun rises. There my Jotun can finally rest for awhile. No nightmares can enter here.

I do indeed love him... very, very much. I've got a Volturi story going at the moment and updating another old story, but my Loki is providing some welcome distraction for me, at the moment. Let me know your thoughts below, loves, as well as any ideas for something cute you'd like to see me write for him. A lil oneshot, either angsty or fluffy or comical. Cheers!

Petals