My first Christmas story in a long time. Consider it a bit of a preview for a story that I'm working on.

The inspiration for this story comes from the song "Baby It's Cold Outside" by Frank Loesser, and a bit from a drawing I saw on deviantArt. It's titled "Sigyn and Loki" by Savu0211. When I saw that picture, I thought it was so sweet. So I just kind of based this story off of the song and that picture.

It was winter on Asgard. Although the ground was already covered in a thick blanket of white, snow continued to fall gently. Typically, Eira wasn't too fond of snow or cold weather, but right now she didn't mind. She was sitting on a large sheepskin rug in Loki's room, next to a warm fire, with a book in her hand. Loki lay next to her with his head in her lap, one of his knees slightly bent towards the ceiling, and a book of Midgardian poems in his hand. Eira wasn't really sure how long she had been there. Time always seemed to slip by unnoticed when they were together. When she came to the end of a chapter, she set her book aside and stretched, glancing toward the window.

"Oh my Odin," she said.

"What's wrong?" Loki asked, not looking up from his book.

"It's dark outside!"

"And?"

"And I should be getting home!"

"Oh! Here's a good one," he exclaimed, ignoring the conversation. He began to recite;

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head;
I have seen roses damask'd red and white;
But no such roses I see in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare."

Eira looked down at her fiancé.

"Do you mean that to be me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "And don't change the subject."

"Well . . . not entirely," he replied. "What subject am I changing?"

The healer rolled her eyes. "I must go. It's gotten dark."

"It's been dark for a while, love," Loki said, turning the page.

"Why didn't you tell me? Get up, you have to walk me back."

Eira nudged his shoulder with her book. He sighed and turned down the corner of the page to mark his place. Setting the book aside, he lifted his head from her lap and propped himself up on his elbow. He met her gaze with a concerned look.

"It's far too cold for you to leave now," he said matter-of-factly.

"I have a cloak," she replied in the same tone.

"It's too dark anyway," he pressed. "That will only make the cold seem worse."

"Well, then where am I supposed to stay?"

"Here."

"Here?"

"Why not?"

He looked genuinely confused. Eira sighed and shook her head.

"People will talk, Loki," she said softly.

A mischievous look gleamed in his eyes, and she regretted what she'd said almost immediately. It could be hard to tell what words or actions -no matter how innocent- would set the gears of his mind in motion. And the god of mischief was always planning something. A mischievous smirk soon followed the glint in his eye as he sat up, turning to face her. He planted one foot on the ground and pointed one knee towards the ceiling, resting his arm on it.

"Talk about what?" he asked playfully.

"As if you don't know," she narrowed her eyes, not in the mood to play his games.

"Don't be like that, love," Loki pouted.

He reached up and rested his palm on her neck, just below her ear. Eira found it difficult to be angry with him as he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She sighed in defeat. He always knew exactly what to do to mitigate her anger.

"Where would I sleep?" she asked.

"In the bed," he replied like it was the most obvious thing in all nine realms.

"And you're sleeping on the floor?"

"No," he smirked.

"Then I'll sleep on the floor."

"We could both sleep on the floor. . . ."

"Seriously?"

"The rug, specifically. It's very soft."

Eira rolled her eyes.

"I can't stay here, Loki," she repeated. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers very gently.

"Please?" he asked with a face Eira was sure that, along with his silver tongue and sharp wit, would allow him to get away with murder.

"It's not proper," she explained. "People already talk enough. I don't want to give them anymore fodder for their rumours."

"Eira, it's freezing out there. You could catch a cold."

"Nice try, Odinson, but I live in the palace."

"You still have to pass though the gardens to get to the healers' quarters."

Eira gave him a look. "It's not like I'm trudging across the city."

Loki's hand moved from her cheek to her hip as he leaned in and kissed her neck. Eira placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. He pouted, but didn't try to make another move.

"Don't try and distract me from the subject," she scolded.

"Was it working?"

Eira gave him one of her don't-push-your-luck looks. Loki sighed.

"I don't want you to go yet," he answered honestly.

"Well then, when would you like me to go?"

Loki reached out and pulled Eira close to him so she rested between his legs with her head on his chest. He kissed the to of her head.

"Never," he murmured into her hair.

"Well it's got to be before morning."

"It's too cold."

"Oh don't start that again."

Well, there it is. I might write a little more, but for now it's just a one-shot.

The poem Loki read is Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare. One of my favorites, actually.

One more thing: In the interest of full-disclosure, I am aware that there is a story already attached to the picture I mentioned at the beginning, written by the artist. I just want to assure you that nothing from my story is plagiarized, simply another imagining of the story that's behind the picture.