Sanctum Sanctorum, way back when
Hands as cold as ice cupped the sides of his head from behind, only to meet at the centre of his forehead in a deliciously-cooling fan of fingers, the tips of which soon fast at work to knead soothing circles all over his throbbing head.
Stephen let out a sinful groan. "How on earth do you manage to hit all the right spots?"
"Hmm. That's an easyfficult question."
"Loki, you would be the crown jewel of the psychiatry community if ever you feel like donating your brain to science," Stephen mused with a sense of pride, as misplaced as it may be. "You take neologism to a whole new level."
"Keep talking like that and I'll donate your body to science," Loki purred sweetly. "While your heart's still beating."
Stephen groaned again when Loki hit yet another spot right above his right temple. For all his words of poison, Loki was surprisingly gentle, and at his magic touch, the shard of pain that had been spiking the very spot for the last half hour miraculously disappeared. "God where have you been all my life?"
Expecting a clever comeback, Stephen was somewhat taken aback by Loki's short, honest answer. "Lost."
Stephen opened his eyes. He reached up and grabbed the hand closest to him. He kissed the pulse at Loki's wrist. "Found," he corrected.
The other hand stilled in the midst of ministration, but did not lift off Stephen's temple.
Stephen kneaded his thumb along the palmar crease of the white, white hand.
Loki allowed him, and rubbed his own thumb over a keloid scar that wound around Stephen's first knuckle like vine.
Stephen may be passable at palmistry but he had always avoided reading his own husband's palm. It felt too much like intruding but what accidental glimpses he had had in the past, they always brought his attention to the tiny, almost imperceptible cross transecting the head line in the middle of Loki's palm.
Emotional crisis.
What kind of past lives must Loki have led, to still find it difficult to take Stephen at his word?
He kissed Loki's pulse point again. "I've found you."
Loki's voice was unusually thick, "Took you long enough."
"Time is never wrong, Loki. We found each other exactly when we were supposed to." Stephen craned his neck in search of Loki's lips. "You would have hated me had you met the old me."
"Oh I don't know…" Loki teased Stephen by substituting his cheek for his lips at the very last second and Stephen mewled in protest. "According to some people, hate sex is fantastic."
"I don't ever want to find out." Stephen finally had enough and swivelled in his chair to lock his arms around his husband's waist. He felt hot and cold at the same time; that plus the headache was making him clingy.
"Husband, you're unwell." Loki's mercifully cold hand was bliss against the back of his neck. "Why don't you come home and rest, hmm?"
"I can't." Stephen mumbled into Loki's belly. Even through all the leather, hugging Loki felt like hugging a human-sized ice pack, and it felt good. "Hong Kong needs these hieroglyphs deciphered by sunset today."
"Yeah? And I'm guessing if you don't get it done in time, an ancient beast will devour the Eastern hemisphere and cause global panic and catastrophic meltdown across all the major cities?"
"Close. Total annihilation of every man, woman and children within a thousand-kilometre radius, barring shrines built in worship of Ikuchi the legendary water dragon youkai, and its devotees."
Loki sighed. "Let me see." He twisted his body around to take a peek at what Stephen was working on.
"Child's play," he declared.
"Is it?" Stephen mumbled.
All it took was watching The Imitation Game over dinner one night to bring the smart alec out of his thousand-something-year-old husband, who fancied himself as somewhat of a codebreaker.
It was I who cracked the Enigma code and helped the British win the war, Loki had boasted.
Right.
"Cryptanalysing is an art. Using the Rosetta Stone as the key will take you way too long, and half of these hieroglyphics are pure nonsense anyway. White noise, red herrings to throw you off."
"Really." Maybe Loki did break the code and help the Allied Forces defeat the Germans after all.
Loki narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to have to save the world for you again, aren't I?"
Stephen only sniffed.
Loki sighed. "All because you thought it'd be fun to play in the rain, like the hopeless romantic that you are."
"Norway's rain is supposed to be the cleanest," Stephen said mournfully. "Stian isn't sick."
"Yes, but your logic is flawed, dear husband. Stian is only half-human."
Stephen snorted derisively but said nothing.
Loki wiggled out of his husband's embrace and hooked his arms underneath Stephen's armpits. "Come on. Up."
"At least Stian had fun." Stephen smiled at the memory.
"Yes, yes." In the blink of an eye, Loki had them transported to their makeshift bedroom up in the attic of The Sanctum. There was something about making love under the glaring Eye of Agamotto that made the sex fantastic.
"Can't you get us a proper living place here in New York?" he groused nonetheless as he positioned Stephen's limbs so that they were all sufficiently contained within the confines of the small bed.
Stephen's eyes were too heavy with fever to keep open but his ears pricked up. He asked hopefully. "Would you want one?"
"Somewhere with a proper bed where my legs don't hang all the way down to the floor would be nice." Loki conjured a cold flannel, imbued it with his ice magic so it would remain at just the nice side of freezing, and put it on Stephen's forehead awkwardly, like he once saw on television.
"Thought you'd never want to leave Asgard. That's why I never asked." Stephen sighed ruefully, and blissfully at the same time. Perhaps getting sick needed not be so terrible after all.
"Asgard is Asgard," Loki said softly. He placed the back of his hand against Stephen's burning cheek. "New York is you."
Stephen palmed Loki's hand against the side of his face. "Asgard or New York, I am wherever you are."
"As long as you're with me, you won't ever be lost, Loki," he murmured. "Never again."
Loki smiled gently. "Sleep, Stephen. I'll save Hong Kong for you."
"Hmm." Stephen was drifting off now. "I'll give you all the credit, don't worry."
Loki snorted. "Please don't. I bet you never declared yourself a doctor when you were still a lowly mortal and needed to take the aeroplane everywhere, for fear of being called to attend to emergencies mid-flight."
"Do you truly think so little of me?"
Loki only laughed softly. He allowed his forehead to furrow in concern, but only because Stephen's eyes were already closed.
"This is a one-time favour, darling." Loki's lips were cool against his parched, cracked ones.
"Till the next time it rains." Stephen slipped a hot tongue in and nearly got it bit off.
"Don't push it."
New Asgard, present time
"This one new?"
"Yes, Your Highness." The Master of the Horse petted the magnificent beast on the neck gently, before running a reverent hand down its sleek side. "We haven't quite broken him in, but he's getting there."
This one was a beauty.
The Valkyrie watched as Loki reached out and offered the animal the back of his hand. It did not surprise her in the least when the stallion warmed to the Prince almost immediately and nuzzled its nose against his hand.
"He likes you."
"Of course he does," he said quietly. As he continued to gaze into the horse's soulful eyes, Valkyrie wondered how it was possible that one could be as present in the moment, and at the same time, a thousand miles away as Loki was, so glazed were his eyes with poorly-concealed emotions.
Something had happened. Something majorly bad.
How else would one explain the sudden knock on her door that morning?
"Come ride with me, Valkyrie," had been his curt order. Had she not seen the please hidden in his eyes, she would not have thought twice about slamming the door in his face.
Maybe she was getting soft in her old age.
"Saddle him up," he commanded softly.
"I…don't think this one is quite ready yet, my Prince."
"Oh he's ready." Loki caressed the fine suede of its muzzle one last time. He turned around without another word and marched his way out of the stables.
The Master of the Horse looked to the Valkyrie helplessly. She shrugged. "Prince does what he wants."
She watched Loki carefully as he absently tugged on his riding gloves. "Don't worry. The first sign of a buck and I'll make sure His Brattiness dismounts."
As they trotted out onto the trail that led out to the more mountainous terrains on the immediate outskirt of New Asgard, Valkyrie braved her first venture into the realm of conversation.
"What happened, Lackey?"
"Nothing happened."
"Bullshit."
Valkyrie gave her horse a gentle kick and it cantered faster to catch up to him; for someone so keen on companionship, Loki was certainly trying his best to put a distance between them. "You would never leave your children alone, this early in the morning. That means Fancy Man must be around. And instead of snuggling under the covers all cosy and warm, you're out here, in the cold, with me."
"I didn't come out here to talk, My Lady."
The reins were no longer slack in Loki's hands; Valkyrie took it as a sign that Loki was done talking. Just as she thought, Loki bridged his reins and started to gallop, fast gaining speed.
Oh boy.
Angry riding was dangerous riding. And dangerous Loki meant reckless Loki. And reckless Loki meant it could go either way; the day could end with Valkyrie receiving a medal for saving his neck, or receiving the axe for letting Loki break it for the second time.
No, she had to protect that neck at all cost – "Loki, wait up!"
Saying goodbye to one's children, no matter how temporary, was a lot more difficult than Stephen had imagined.
"Will you be gone long, Daddy?" Stian asked sadly.
He knelt down. He stared at his son's forlorn face and felt something in his chest break.
"There's just a few things I have to take care of, buddy." He touched Stian's cheek. His son's default body temperature was somewhere between Loki's hypothermic normal and the human ninety-eight Fahrenheit.
Stian was just another marvel that he was going to miss touching every night, he realised numbly.
"I promise I'll keep in touch."
He searched Stian's hazel eyes, and wondered not for the first time if Stian knew; children had the uncanny ability to sniff out when things were not quite right with their parents. He suspected Stian's otherworldly sixth sense had alerted him that something was amiss. It was evident in the way Stian was not letting go of his hands.
"But you'll come back?"
Stephen's throat dried. "Of course I will, Stian."
Stian stared deep into his eyes, and straight into his soul.
"I'm six years old, Daddy. It's okay if you don't come back for me." Stian's eyes watered. "But Aífe will miss you. And she likes it when you sing her songs."
"Stian, I won't be gone forever." He kissed his son's forehead fiercely. "It's just for a little while."
Stephen stood and straightened to his full height reluctantly. But at least he was no longer at eye level when his firstborn threw his arms around his legs and squeezed tightly.
"Take care of your Pappa for me, will you?" Stian nodded silently into the flesh of his thigh.
Erla silently offered Aífe.
Stephen hefted his daughter in the crook of his elbow and he marvelled at how steadily she was sitting in his arm. She had just started babbling, and although it was too early to tell if she was more Loki or more Stephen, her humanly friendliness may just swing in Stephen's favour – this one was a Daddy's Girl, surely.
Stephen pressed his nose against her cute, button one. "I love you, Princess. You be a good girl and don't give your Pappa too much trouble alright?"
He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, committing her sweet, baby smell to memory.
Stephen looked down at the top of Stian's head, still pressed against his leg. Almost as an afterthought, he suddenly called. "Stian."
Stian looked up. True to his words, his eyes were dry, but the depth of sadness in them was unfathomable, and Stephen fought back tears as he groped in his pocket. "Here."
Stian plucked the object out of his father's palm. Stephen placed his hands on his knees and peered in his son's face. "Whenever you need me, just hold that really tightly in your palm and breathe your magic into it. Call my name, and I will come to you."
Despite the cloud of misery still hanging over his head, a twinkle returned to his eyes. Stian beamed. "Wasn't this your ring, Daddy?"
"It's yours now, Stian." Stephen smiled. "It's still too big for you to wear, but just keep it somewhere safe. Don't lose it alright?"
"I won't!" Stian promised. "Thank you, Daddy."
He watched Stian peruse his new sling ring, engrossed in his first relic of magic, a hand-me-down though it may be, and he could not help but smile.
My Little Sorcerer Supreme.
Stephen's smile faltered.
He knew now was the right time to leave, with Stian distracted enough with his gift. But he could not leave just yet.
He looked down at his own ring. The white gold was as pristine as the day Loki slipped it on his finger. All it would take to find its soulmate was a breath of a spell, but there was nothing Stephen quite feared so much as calling on his magic to find Loki, only to find that Loki –
No.
Loki would never take his ring off. Stephen would know if he had.
"Pappa's at the stables, Daddy." Once again, Stian came to his rescue, saving him from having to find out. "I'm sure Pappa wants to say goodbye too."
Stephen watched as Loki's stallion thundered down the last hundred yards to where the stablemaster was waiting.
Watching Loki ride always stole his breath away; there was something about Loki's regal form, always agile and fluid and one with beast and wind alike, his long black hair blowing freely behind him, as sleek as the mane of his horse.
Just when he thought Loki was going to storm past the stables and not stop, Loki visibly sank deeper in the saddle and squeezed back on the reins, halting the horse gracefully a mere few feet away from the awaiting stablemaster.
The Master of the Horse stepped forward to help him down but Loki waved him away. With one fluid movement, Loki dismounted, but he did not immediately step away.
Stephen could not see his face as Loki patted the magnificent beast on the neck a few times, before Loki hung his head and rested his forehead against its crest. After a few, long seconds, Loki abruptly lifted his head, handed the reins over and stalked off.
Had Loki taken off his riding gloves, Stephen could have put his mind and heart to rest, but he supposed keeping faith was the best thing to do right now.
He was about to march across the grass field when a familiar voice halted him in his tracks. "I wouldn't just yet if I were you, Highness."
"Did he tell you?" He did not turn.
The Valkyrie was silent.
"What I did?" He tipped his head slightly, but still not quite turning all the way, only enough to catch a glimpse of silver out the corner of his eye. "What he did?"
"No." She stepped closer. "And no."
She was now close enough for him to feel the heat of her aura on his back.
He turned around fully to face her.
"He didn't say a word."
Stephen only regarded her silently. The Valkyrie did not seem angry. He would have expected her to try to strike him where he stood but she seemed strangely civil.
"I've never seen him like this." The look of worry in her eyes was unmistakable.
They must have stood and stared at each other for minutes on end.
"But I'll help you," she said finally. "I don't necessarily like you but I will."
Stephen's lips parted as if to say something but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
"What did I tell you about not hurting him? I'm not on your side." Despite her harsh words, her eyes were the softest he had ever seen her look at him, "But I'll try my best."
It was not much, not much at all, but Stephen could feel the weight lift off his heart slightly.
"Thank you," he said numbly.
She nodded curtly. "He asked me to give you this."
Stephen stared at the small envelope she had in between her index and middle fingers. He hesitated, but knew he had no choice but to accept the letter Loki could not seem to deliver himself. He took it and palmed it out of sight. He was not going to open it here. Not in front of others.
Without a word, Valkyrie turned to leave, before an afterthought stopped her in her tracks. "Oh, almost forgot." She twirled around and her long black hair framed a face wearing a look almost as forlorn as the one on Stian's.
"He did say to tell you that you're free to see your children whenever you want."
She half-curtsied and waved a careless goodbye, before ending her messenger duties with a knowing look, "They are as much yours as his, he said."
Sanctum Sanctorum, New York
Stephen sat heavily on the double bed in the attic where he and Loki once shared. The Eye stared down on him, ever the silent observer, never judgmental but ever ready to lend an ear whenever he needed it.
The sun was setting in New York, and what little of the dusk that streamed through the skylight was a dull, pallid red. It reminded him of a withered grapefruit Loki had once left out on the kitchen counter back home in Asgard.
Home.
Stephen closed his eyes. He wished the disappearing sun still had some warmth left to it, but he doubted that even the brightest rays of the morning could liven up the void fast expanding in his chest.
The envelope was small, only the size of his palm, but of a substantial weight despite its dismal dimensions. The Prince's stationery was, like Loki, fancy and luxurious. How its content fared against its decadence was anyone's guess; Stephen had yet to open it.
It was now or never. He had held it off long enough.
Stephen opened it and peeked inside.
He stared at its content for the longest time.
Oh, Loki.
To think that he had been filled with such dread, terrified of what he would find
Stephen barked a laugh, mirthless and bitter.
Of course.
Of course it was not Loki's ring. Loki would never do that to him.
Stephen tipped the envelope upside down, and Loki's soft locks fell onto his palm.
He fingered the silky strands numbly. His husband's hair felt exactly the same as how it felt the first time Stephen held it between his fingers all those years ago.
It was arguably Loki's first token of love to him, wasn't it?
Stephen savoured the familiar scent of sandalwood; it was faint, but definitely there. He breathed in Loki's scent deeply but only for a few more seconds; he would not want to get it wet.
As he pocketed the precious relic away at his breast, a dark thought, as dark as the night sky creeping in through the ever-watchful Eye, crossed his mind –
The ending scene of the last movie they watched together flashed through his mind's eye.
Vincent, a mortal man with a faulty heart and a life expectancy fast approaching its expiry. And Jerome, the gifted, genetically-engineered, perfect superhuman of the best pedigree, whose tragic accident robbed him of his legs, forcing him to live the life of a cripple.
Jerome lent Vincent his body, and in return, Vincent lent Jerome his dreams. The Heavens answered Vincent's wish to see the stars, and on the day of Vincent's mission to space, Jerome gifted Vincent with the same gift Stephen was now holding in his hand.
A lock of Jerome's hair Vincent took with him into space, for Jerome simply had to be there when Vincent set his eyes on the stars that would have been out of his grasp had it not been for his Jerome, simply because Vincent was not born perfect. Simply because he was born human, a God child.
Jerome Morrow died in the end. He set himself on fire in the very incinerator pivotal to their identity-swapping, dream-lending tryst.
Am I your Vincent, Loki?
Stephen closed his eyes.
Are you giving me hope, or are you saying goodbye?
"What have I done?" he whispered in the dark. No one answered.
"What the fuck have I done?"
What you've always intended all along, a voice finally spoke.
Perhaps the voice was right, whoever it was. He just did not expect it to hurt this much.
Stephen let the tears come.
He had to, lest he wake every ghost in this place with his screams of rage and fury and grief.
This way, Loki will never get hurt, the voice spoke again, placatingly, imploringly. It sounded too much like his own voice to be anyone else.
You will never hurt Loki anymore. That's what you've always wanted.
Isn't it?