A/N: So I finally, FINALLY watched Thor in its entirety. Dear gods, Loki is beautiful...

Yes, I'd only seen bits of Thor before, don't judge me :P

Simpa007 - Yeah, my Christmas was great, thanks. Aww, thank you. I do try and write well, hopefully you like it!

kie1993 - here we go! And not a two-week wait! Huzzah!

LePyronness - Cheers :D

opticon217 - woohoo! I know, writing's so fun! :D

MissCaityGrace - he's a top bloke really :P

ZapZapYotsuba - Ah, if I was him, that'd be telling ;) You'll get a little more of her backstory now!

SuperFunkyGirl1 - RA RA AH AH AH, ROMA ROMA MA :P

Snowy702 - yay! I'm so happy you love it that much!

Violeta27 - Well, sneaky & sultry = Loki ;) Yeah, I wanted to use cerebral palsy in a story. I actually have a mild form of CP, so I know exactly how it works/affects lives, and I wanted to see how it would fit within a story :)

And on we go. Fans at the ready, ladies, Loki gets a little.. frisky ;)


His lips were soft and gentle; there was very little force, no persuasion.

It was simple, easy.

No ulterior motive.

But then reason slapped her around the face, and she broke away, gasping.

"W-what?"

Her eyes were wide, and her expression so terribly vulnerable that he wanted to protect her forever, to pull her close and never let her go.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered. He smiled.

"Because I wanted to. Does that satisfy you?"

She looked almost despairing, and she turned away.

I can't, I can't…

"You need to leave." Her voice was quiet, a single note of sadness.

He frowned, and took a step towards her.

"Camille…"

"Why?" She whirled around, her eyes ablaze with a maelstrom of emotions. "Why would you do something like that? Why? How could you even want to? I'm not like those goddesses you must be used to, I'm not pretty, not tall. I'm nothing. So why?"

He was shocked at her outburst, and more than a little compassionate.

"Camille, you cannot believe those words you speak, surely?"

"Everyone else thinks so." She was near to tears, he realised, horrified. "I'm worthless. That's all I've been told. What else am I but that?"

His eyes softened.

"Would you believe me if I claimed differently?"

She laughed bitterly. "You'd be lying. A skill you must be proficient at, I'm sure."

He ignored the insult; he knew it was unintentional, she meant no true spite by it. Instead he shook his head.

"No. I am not lying, Camille. Though I am indeed proficient, it is rarely a skill I take pleasure in."

She bit her lip, and he could see her mental guards keeping her in denial, keeping her safe.

And by the Norns how he wanted to break them. How he wanted to show her trust, show her happiness, show her –

He froze.

What? What am I thinking? his mind cried, stunned. Happiness? Me? With a mortal?

Oh, I have well and truly lost it.

But he found he did not care, and he told his brain to shut it.

"You are a beautiful being, Camille." His voice was gentle, devoid of all harshness. "I would not have you trust otherwise."

She turned away and walked to the kitchen. He watched, troubled, as she began to make herself a cup of tea, but her hands shook so much she was forced to stop.

Again. Again. This happened before. Only now she is not nervous, more… afraid.

Her coping strategy.

He waited as she stood by the counter, her back to him.

She grasped the edge of the sink, and breathed in deeply.

"I… what you said… nobody, save my family, has ever told me that." Her voice was shaky with emotion, and she still did not face him. "I'm sorry if you think I'm overreacting, but I'm so… unused to this."

His heart warmed at her honest confession. He approached her, and carefully placed his hand on her shoulder, not wanting to startle her.

Making her jump is the last thing I'd long for.

Gently, he rubbed small circles with his thumb on her skin.

"Breathe."

She tensed at his touch, but that single word seemed to soothe every fibre of her body. She exhaled, and he could feel her relax under his fingers.

"That's better." His voice was low, sending sensations through her.

She closed her eyes, his tone lulling her. She had no idea what it was, but around him – around the fucking god of mischief – she felt secure. Safe.

Like I could trust him.

Her eyes flew open, and he sensed her shock immediately.

"What is it?"

She was quiet, infuriatingly so. Just when he was about to repeat his question, she spoke softly.

"Has anyone ever trusted you, Loki?"

He was taken aback, and he dropped his hand as though her skin burned him.

"I…"

She smiled sadly. "Can I trust you?"

"You shouldn't." He failed to hide the pain in that reply, and she could hear it. "Oh, you should not hold faith in me at all, mortal."

She laughed softly. "You are God of Lies for a reason, then."

He sighed, declining to comment.

She whirled round then, and her gaze was piercingly curious.

"But why then do I feel like I can?"

"Excuse me?"

"Trust you." She took a step forward from the sink. "I feel like I can trust you. Why? I trust pretty much nobody, so why do I feel like I can trust you, of all people?"

He was immediately wary, guarded.

"You shouldn't."

"I know. Yet I do."

She rolled her eyes. "God, this is like something out of a teen angst movie with pale sparkly tortured souls and suicidal 'oh I love you but you can kill me' damsels."

He quirked an eyebrow, utterly bemused. "What…?"

"Honestly, you do not want to know." She laughed. "It might just traumatise you."

"Ah. I see." He smiled warmly, a genuine show of amusement, and she suddenly realised that such a thing was rare from him. Her cheeks heated slightly, and he tilted his head, his smile widening.

"You're blushing, Camille."

"Excellent deduction, Sherlock." Her sarcasm saturated every word, and it delighted him.

"Should I start smoking?" A clay pipe appeared in his hand, and his expression was sly.

She burst out laughing, and covered her mouth in an attempt to remain dignified.

The appearance of the deerstalker cap blew that to smithereens, and she was unable to stop the laughter bubbling from her. She gripped the edge of the counter for support, and all of a sudden he was laughing with her, his eyes alight with mirth.

She tried to let go of the side, to at least stand straight, and she slipped.

He grabbed her, and allowed himself to fall to the floor. She landed on top of him, and they both tried to smother their glee.

Until she raised her head to look at him.

His eyes instantly captured hers, and her giggles died an instantaneous death.

"Hello," he murmured. Her face pinked, and almost lazily he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. His thumb traced her lips, and her eyes widened.

"I…"

In a flash they both lay on the living room carpet. She cocked her eyebrows at him.

"You'll be more comfortable," he said by way of answering. She frowned.

"More comfortable for wha –"

He rolled in a split-second, and she inhaled as he leaned over her, his eyes aflame with barely restrained desire, his long legs entrapping hers.

"There." Amusement licked at his tone. "You see? More… comfortable."

His lips claimed hers, and she closed her eyes as his tongue gently explored her mouth, mated with her own.

A soft moan escaped her, and he chuckled.

"How utterly exquisite you are…" His lips travelled along her jaw, and to her throat, where she arched her back, gasping as he nipped that sweet spot.

The sensation of her pushing up towards him almost made him lose all control, and he inhaled slowly, running a finger along her denim-covered thigh.

Her eyes flew open.

"No!"

She sat up, breathing heavily. He pulled back at once, brow furrowed.

"Camille?"

"I can't do this," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

She started to get up, but he held her down, his gaze searching.

"Loki, let me up."

"There's something you haven't told me," he said quietly. "It's why you panicked, isn't it?"

"You know how I feel about men trying to –"

"No, no, that isn't it. Don't lie to me; that will never work."

He could sense her heart was racing, and he saw the tears gathering in her eyes.

"Loki, get off me." Her voice was trembling. "Please. Just get off me."

"Camille, what is wrong?"

She fought against him then, and alarm streaked through him as he saw the fully-fledged terror in her eyes.

He released her immediately, sitting up, and she backed away, hitting the sofa.

Neither of them spoke for a minute, until he broke the silence.

"You were lying when you told me no man had ever violated you, weren't you?" His voice was gentle, hiding his inner turmoil, his horror at what had been done to her.

The tears welled once more, and she shut her eyes.

And I did not see the lie because it was what I wanted to hear.

"Camille, love, I am so sorry," he said softly. "Had I known –"

"Why would you know?" A bitter laugh fell from her. "Why would anyone know? I've never told anybody here. New life, new start, right? The police dealt with him; I just have to live my life now."

"And you flinched from me because I was too forceful." He sighed, regret swallowing him. "I am truly sorry, I did not –"

"No."

He stared. "No?"

"That isn't the only reason."

Her cheeks coloured, and she glanced away from him.

"I was seventeen when it happened. Four years ago. And before that… I had never done anything intimate with anyone. Afterwards… I lost my faith in guys."

She bit her lip.

"What I'm saying is that… I…"

"Camille, I understand." He reached out to touch her hand. "You consider yourself pure. Untouched."

Her face flamed, but she nodded, abruptly unable to meet his gaze.

"I haven't ever… not since the incident…"

His gaze softened, and his thumb caressed the back of her hand.

"It's alright, love. Breathe. Don't be ashamed of yourself. Never be that."

She laughed shakily. "I try. But it's so difficult…"

A single tear fell, and he caught it with his thumb. He smiled.

"No more tears. Not now."

A steaming mug appeared in his hand, and she laughed ruefully.

"Thanks."

He grinned.

"My pleasure."

He sat back, and she sipped the tea gingerly.

"Ms Lewis was saying that you write," he said casually. Her eyes twinkled as she remembered that he'd overheard their entire conversation.

"Mm. I do. That's how I make my living," she replied, grateful for his topic change. "I guess it became my job when I was sixteen."

"What do you write? Fiction?"

Her lips curved shyly. "Yeah. Fantasy, mainly. A little horror."

Delight sparked in his eyes. "You? Such an angelic creature? Writing horror?"

Playfully, she rapped his knee. "I may look adorable, but I'm really not. Be warned. I bite."

"I shall keep it in mind." He smirked, and she rolled her eyes, taking another sip.

"You're impossible."

"Oh, no. Just improbable." He winked, and she smiled.


He watched the boy cooking breakfast, watched him carelessly fry some sliced meat or other.

He hadn't really meant to, but he'd picked the face and the name from her head while she was opening up to him. And now here he was, over four thousand miles away in England, while Camille slept back in New Mexico, blissfully unaware of where he currently stood.

It was early morning, sunlight streaming in, and he eyed the boy's figure with an unrivalled hatred.

Yes.

Time to play.

"Having fun there, are we?"

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin, and he swore as the knife slipped, cutting his thumb.

He whirled, and his eyes widened as he took in his intruder.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Loki smiled lightly. "A messenger. Do you perhaps remember a girl of the name Camille Langley?"

The boy paled a little. "Yes. I do."

"And do you perhaps remember what you did to her?" Loki's voice was cool, calm, but anyone could hear the menace under the surface. "How you broke her to nothing?"

The boy's expression hardened.

"Get out, you fucking weirdo!" He raised the carving knife in his hand, and Loki rolled his eyes.

"Oh, put the blade down, Benjamin. You and I both know it'll do you no good."

Baited, the boy slashed forwards, and Loki sighed.

"I told you it would do you no good. But would you listen? No."

The boy dropped the knife in shock, and began to scream in horror as he stared at his own body, criss-crossed with ribbons of scarlet – the wounds he had inflicted himself.

"Shit, man!" he shrieked, hunching over in pain. "Who the fuck are you? What do you want from me?"

"What do I want?" Loki began to circle the boy, steady, even. "What do I want… well. If I am to be thoroughly honest with you, Benjamin Riley… I want to skin you alive, rip your organs out one by one and, to be truthful, kill you stone dead. All of which I am quite capable of doing, I assure you."

The boy's face had drained of all colour, and he suddenly dashed for the door. It slammed shut, and he turned round, backing up against it, utterly terrified.

"I'm sorry!" he screeched. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Loki shook his head.

"Too late."

His eyes darkened to scarlet, his skin turned azure, and the boy began to scream.


A/N: Heheheheheheh... nobody can hide from Loki. Nobody.

He can be pretty damn evil when he wants to be...

Lightning xoxo