Clones I
The scream was blood-curling and brutally woke Loki from his peaceful slumber.
He was clear-minded in seconds, not only because of his military training that implied being up at ungodly hours, but also because he knew what was going on and what he had to do.
The wailing, terrified figure lying next to him was his wife, Sigyn, "Fire-head", daughter of the Fire-King Sothorn, and she was having another one of her horrible night terrors.
They've been married for nearly a year. It was only six months since his wife's hateful brothers had fled Asgard with their tails between their legs and Loki's threats ringing in their ears. Loki wanted them dead or, at least, rendered harmless. Both for the horrible treatment they gave to their only sister and for getting them out of the way so the Fire-kingdom could be for him and his wife, someday. With Loki, pleasure and business were always closely intertwined. Except for one excruciating thing, something that seemed almost too much for him to bear. Although he also bore it with great joy.
Loki loved Sigyn. Sigyn loved Loki. When he thought about it, it was a crystal clear truth that tore him apart with both pain and bliss. He wasn't ready for such an un-Asgardian love. They completed each other. Their minds were intimately linked. Their first night, which was incredibly sweet and awkward, brought them the surprise of their connection and Sigyn's new-found powers.
For the Fire Princess was a "Fire-Head," a powerful psychic that just needed the perfect mate to develop her gift. Sometimes Loki wondered if the intensity of his bond with Sigyn, the fact that he could feel her thoughts, her heart, her soul, wherever he went, wherever she was and the fact that she felt the same towards him, was due to him only or if it would have worked with someone else. He didn't want to know, really. At first, Sigyn was supposed to be Thor's wife. Loki had taken his place a bit out of spite, a bit for defiance and a (very) large bit because he felt isolated and hoped for something more meaningful. Each time he caressed his wife's amazing mane whose multiple shades of red and gold imitated flames (the reason why her kind were called "Fire-heads"), he couldn't believe how clever he had been to accept this match and how lucky he was.
He was happy. The happiest man on Asgard each time she turned to him and smiled. He could do anything for her because she brought him everything he ever wanted, attention, admiration, love and, last but not least, the possibility of being king someday. She was his, his treasure, and he was amazed at the thrill the idea of belonging to her, gave him. Now, he couldn't live without her.
That was why her nightly terrors crushed his heart because he knew exactly what was going on in her head, deep in the recess of her tormented mind, things she had buried so deep he couldn't see. Because she was too scared and ashamed to talk to him about it, least of all show him.
"Love, my love, wake up, it's me!"
Her eyes were wide and hallucinated. She was not fully awake yet. In front of her, the horrors she endured were still dancing and mocking her. She couldn't see yet the clear figure and emerald eyes of her mate. That man who saved her and gave her freedom. Her husband.
She vaguely focused on his worried face, her hands touching his face hesitantly. She sighed and the visions decayed to leave space to the anxious expression, the soft thin lips, the pale skin, the jet-black hair and the well-known and loving piercing eyes. She put her brow on Loki's
Love, he send through his bond.
You, it's you, she send back.
He engulfed her in his arms, covered her with his body. She sighed again, closed her eyes and let herself lie down on the pillows and the furs. He started then the now familiar and reassuring dance of their lovemaking. His caresses confident and exploring, his kisses possessive and sweet, sometimes a bite on her neck that made her exhale a particular moan, his knee gently parting her legs, knowing that he had the unsaid permission.
In those moments, and that was contrary to her habit, she was sadly passive.
This was not her at all. This was not the ardent lover that demanded him and claimed him. The wild girl that rode him until he begged for mercy. The only one to deliciously break him and make him glad for it. This was a silent acceptance, a sort of absence, an incapacity to participate. He could do to her the things she didn't like, if he wanted it, and she would let him because she simply could not be present in the moment. Loki hated it because he knew she wasn't acting the lifeless doll on purpose, she couldn't do anything else.
Loki never asked what happened exactly between her and her brothers. He had had visions of her and her older brother, the so-called Fire-King Sodarn, an animal (and calling him an animal was an insult to actual, proper animals). Those visions were ghastly, proof that he, at least, had sexually assaulted her. Loki had been Sigyn's very first lover but Loki knew perfectly that much damage could be done to a woman and still leave her virginity intact. Maidenheads and the fuss males made about it were over-rated in Loki's mind, a proof of nothing. It made him chill just thinking what could have happened. He only had partial images but enough to make him sick. Yet, he wasn't sure that forcing Sigyn to talk about it would help. It could possibly make things worse. He held her unconsciously tighter and accelerated the rhythm of his pondering, as if his own possession of Sigyn could erase the aggression she endured.
Love, it hurts. The bond painfully sang.
Forgive me, love. He answered.
Loki kissed her more gently and slowed down. He climaxed but without the completion of knowing she had had her pleasure too. He held her even tighter, waiting for her to calm down and go back to sleep. He heard a tiny thump on the bed and an indignant mewling. Silinn, Sigyn's black and white stray cat, was getting back on his rightful place after fleeing the racket his mistress was making. Life in the palace had turned the cute fleabag into a spoiled, ungrateful thing, Loki thought, caressing the scornful mouser. Darn selfish fur-ball had no compassion for Loki's lack of sleep or Sigyn's angst.
It was a problem he knew not how to fix. How can you protect someone from her private horror, her own fears... against herself ?
For days, after her nightly terrors, she wouldn't let him touch her mind as she used to. She was scared to show him her subconscious. Loki was a little hurt by this lack of trust, but he respected her will. He knew she was the one embarrassed by her confusion and he didn't want to complicate the situation by being forceful.
But he had to find a way. To show her there was nothing to fear any more.
He had an idea but it was really "risqué"... If it went wrong, that could be a motive for divorce...