A/N: Hello, lovelies! I hope you're all doing okay :)
Simpa007 - No, not weird at all, I LOVED writing it *cackles evilly*
kie1993 - *bows* thank you, my dear.
SuperFunkyGirl1 - Yeah, I used to love it, but not anymore. Now I just enjoy mocking it... YEAH HACKY SLASHY :D
Snowy702 - cheers xD
BeatnikFreak - heh, love you too *hug* Lemme know how you're doing, btw. Also, when you feel like it - SUSPIAN. MOAR.
opticon217 - we all know Loki has a dark side. Heh. I wanted to exercise that a bit. Hope I did it justice!
MissCaityGrace - Yup, completely screwed xD Here's more for you, sweetie!
Shall we? ;) Also, there are translations at the end of the chappy, in case you don't speak French!
Camille stirred, her legs twitching. She mumbled something unintelligible, and buried her head under the pillow, stretching her legs out –
She paused, still half-asleep.
That something had not been at the end of her bed last night.
Irritably, she kicked it, wanting the damn thing to move out the way so she could properly wriggle in the bed.
It made no sign of shifting out of the way, and she groaned.
She kicked it again.
"You can do that for as long as you wish, it will make no difference."
Her eyes shot open, and she nearly pulled her back twisting round to stare at the figure perched on the end of the bed.
He smiled innocently.
"Good morning, Camille."
She glared, though her mind registered that he was sublimely dressed in a soft blue shirt and dark trousers, a pair of sunglasses clipped to the shirt pocket – and she could see the delicious muscles of his forearms.
Not that she, you know, cared or anything.
"What are you doing here? It's not even ten in the morning," she protested, her cheeks flushing as she eyed his shins. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Actually, it's almost eleven, and no," he laughed. "It would take a lot to even bruise me, my dear."
She rolled her eyes, and threw the pillow over her face.
"Let me sleep."
"I was. Until you decided to abuse me." A smile edged his voice. "Being a gentleman, I was obliged to return the favour."
"Bastard," she mumbled. He laughed.
"Do you not understand Midgardian social rules?" she said, albeit it slightly muffled. "No-one watches people sleep like that! No-one!"
A thought occurred, and she sat up, eyes narrowing.
"You're not Edward Cullen, are you?"
He lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Who?"
She tossed the pillow at him; being who he was, he caught it effortlessly, and a flicker of disappointment crossed her face.
He smirked. "You'll have to try a lot harder to catch me unawares, Camille."
Her expression was abruptly mischievous, and she moved closer to him.
Her lips brushed his, and his eyes widened slightly. She smiled as she felt him still in surprise.
"Caught you," she whispered against his mouth.
A second passed, and a low chuckle reverberated.
"Never."
His mouth seized hers then, and he pulled her to him, his fingers feeling the warm bare skin of her waist where her scarlet strappy top had ridden up.
Camille felt giddy. Actually giddy. Never had a kiss been so… overwhelming.
Mind you, when you've had centuries, if not millennia to practise…
Shut up brain, shut up!
His laugh echoed in her mind, before he gently pulled back.
"Satisfactory, I take it?"
She grinned, still slightly dazed.
"No, it was… terrible. You need lessons."
"Minx."
"Cheat."
His eyes glittered, and she held up a finger.
"Uh, uh. I know that look. No."
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and she stood up, stretching. Loki watched, his eyes roving her body as it tautened and her top lifted, revealing a smooth back and alabaster skin. Her – horrific, garish, ghastly - pyjama shorts rested on her hips, and he took a moment to admire the curves above them. How he longed to kiss every inch, to taste every part of her, to have her and hold her and –
"Stop ogling me, Loki."
He smirked, and reached out a finger to run it lazily down her spine. She shivered, and that single motion made his entire body ache for her.
"You're quite beautiful, you know," he said casually. She stilled, and then turned her body to smile shyly at him.
"Breakfast?"
He inclined his head, his lips quirking at her modest air.
"Of course."
He rose fluidly, and followed her to the kitchen. He loved the way her hips swayed slightly, and displeasure flitted through him as she paused in her step by a strange white contraption resting on the counter. She pressed a few buttons on a black rectangle sitting amongst the white, and he laughed softly as jazz music began to play.
"Louis Armstrong?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You know Armstrong?"
"He was quite a delightful man, yes."
The eyebrow rose higher.
"You actually knew him?"
"Indeed I did."
She laughed, and danced to the fridge, light on her feet despite her usual tendency to stumble. "Well, I'm envious. What can I make you?"
Her movements had near entranced him, and he took a moment to collect himself.
"Surprise me."
She glanced at him, faint worry creasing her brow.
"You're not, you know, allergic to anything, are you?"
He had to laugh at that. Humans and their fragilities.
"I'll take that as a no," she muttered. He merely watched her, a crooked smile gracing his oh-so-tempting lips.
"Sweet or savoury?"
Suddenly he was behind her, and his mouth brushed her ear.
"Oh, sweet, to be sure."
She inhaled at his feather-light touch, and her whole body tensed.
"Loki…"
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and stepped back.
"You desire breakfast, yes?"
She was about to tell him she desired a fuck-load more than breakfast, and spun round to say so, when she caught sight of the table.
A basket of blood-red strawberries sat there, with a small jug of cream and a dish of wafer-thin biscuits.
Her eyes widened, and unconsciously she licked her lips.
She glanced at him. "Thank you."
He gestured. "Please, eat."
"Well, if I am, so are you. I'll feel self-conscious otherwise."
He smirked.
"As you wish."
He pulled out her chair, and bade her sit. She did, a little embarrassed by the gesture, not accustomed to gallantry. He noticed, and wisely said nothing, taking a seat of his own and removing the sunglasses from his shirt, placing them on the table. Camille picked up a fork and speared a strawberry, biting off the tip and chewing. An expression of pure happiness lit her face, and he smiled.
"Good?"
"C'est parfait," she murmured. He looked delighted.
"Parlez-vous français?"
"Un peu," she blushed. "I'm not a native speaker, but I love the language."
"I could teach you," he offered. She smiled shyly.
"Vraiment?"
"Oui, si c'est que tu veux," he replied warmly.
"S'il te plait," she said softly. "Merci."
"De rien." Languidly, he picked up a strawberry and dipped it in the cream, before lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite. He licked his lips as he chewed and swallowed.
"Where did you learn to speak it?" she asked interestedly, eating a little more as she realised how delicious the food actually was.
"I spent time in France a few years ago, out of pure curiosity. For Midgard, it's quite an exquisite place."
She raised an eyebrow. "For Midgard? Asgard's better, is it?"
His eyes sparked with amusement at her sharpness.
"Oh, yes. Much better."
Camille rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. Shining city, drenched in golden sunlight, pure rivers, beautiful spots of nature, with a mystical rainbow bridge as the cherry on top."
He grinned. "You weave magic with your tongue, mademoiselle."
She smiled wryly. "I try. Was I right?"
"Surprisingly close to the truth."
She dipped a biscuit in cream and ate it slowly.
"Tell me about it. Tell me about Asgard."
His mouth quirked. "You seem to know it already, my dear."
She rapped his hand. "No. Tell me about Asgard. Not just what it looks like. Tell me about the people. Your childhood. What you hated, what you loved, what made you laugh. Tell me –"
The phone rang then, cutting her off, and she sighed.
"One sec."
"Here." He abruptly held out the phone out to her, and she took it, gratified.
"Thanks."
She rose from her seat and went into the next room. "Hello?"
The fact that she moved away from him to take the call both fascinated and amused him. Shy about calling, yet she should know he had better hearing than a human. He could hear every word she and the caller spoke.
He frowned as he listened, and her voice was becoming more and more shocked.
"Right… I see… wow. Do they… do they know who did it?... No. Okay. Yeah, I'll talk to you later."
There was a pause, and she came back into the kitchen, looking faintly disturbed. She turned off the still-playing music and faced him.
"Please tell me it wasn't you who killed Benjamin Riley."
His eyes darkened. "I make no denial of that."
There was a bitter taste in her mouth. "They say it was a mixture of frostbite –"
"Hypothermia, blood loss and bone breakage," he finished calmly. "Yes. It was."
She leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes, slight revulsion crossing her features.
"You didn't have to murder him, Loki."
"He broke you, Camille. I was simply returning the favour, albeit a little more… permanently."
She sighed, trying to belie the sense of queasiness rising within her.
"I suppose in some weird twisted way I should be thanking you."
"There's no need. It was out of my own volition." His voice was still even, almost serene. "He will not trouble you again."
"Well, no. But… frostbite? How did – oh. Oh." Her eyes widened. "Jötunn. That… figures."
Surprise flickered, but then he reasoned that she had read the myths.
"Yes, exactly." His voice had an edge of steel to it, and she could hear it.
"Then you must wear a glamour or disguise of some sort, yes?"
He had not expected her to be so insightful, and it alarmed him, so much so that he failed to hide his reaction.
She chuckled at his expression. "The literal translation of jötunn would suggest a difference in height and temperature… and you look very much not like one right now."
Embarrassment coloured his cheeks, and he looked away.
"I am considered somewhat small in stature for my race."
There was silence, and he chanced a glance at her.
She took him aback by smiling.
"You see that bag of sugar over there?" She gestured to the counter, and, following her hand, Loki nodded, observing the item in question.
"Yes."
"I was no bigger than that when I was born. I was tiny. Just over three pounds. So you and I have something in common there."
A hesitant smile tugged at his lips. "So it would seem."
Slowly, she walked over to him, and kissed his cheek.
"I admire your gallantry, Loki, but please don't maim or kill anyone on my behalf." He could hear the wryness, and his eyes twinkled as she continued, "I don't make a habit of causing the deaths of my enemies."
"Duly noted," he murmured. She shook her head, grinning.
"Wordplay, I see."
"What else would you expect?" he reminded her, smirking in return.
She straightened, and ran a hand through her hair.
She froze.
"Holy –"
She dashed to the mirror in her bedroom, and she groaned.
"What is it?"
"I have been talking to you, eating breakfast – which, by the way, is not something I do often, breakfast with men – and my hair has been like this. This!" She gestured wildly, appalled at the tangled brunette curls. "It's a complete bird's nest, it –"
He spun her around and kissed her. She surrendered instantly, and he lifted her by her waist on to her dresser, scattering makeup and jewellery to the floor. His lips crushed hers, seeking dominance, and unconsciously her legs wrapped themselves around his, her hands gripping his shirt. She sighed against him, and she gasped as his lips fixated on that spot on her throat. A shudder of pleasure went through her, and her eyes widened.
"Oh, my…"
His tongue flicked it, and she tensed instantly, tightening around him. He laughed, low, dark, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
"Your hair is wonderful," he murmured, and he buried his hand in it, feeling the softness against his fingers. "The wilder, the better, my dear."
He kissed her once more, impassioned beyond belief, before pulling away to admire his handiwork.
She sat upon the dresser, legs spread, face flushed, her – truly magnificent – breasts heaving. Her hair was tousled, her lips rouged, her eyes fiery.
She looked utterly glorious, and he was wholly determined to have her.
Oh, to have her writhing with need, begging, crying out for my touch –
A slight smile curved his lips.
"Feeling alright, darling?"
"You bastard," she gasped. He grinned.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
A scent caught his attention, and he cocked his head. He chuckled.
"Someone is a little lustful."
Her eyebrows shot up. "You can't possibly –"
"I'm a god, my dear. I have extremely sensitive senses. And your body is betraying you quite spectacularly."
She tried to slip off the dresser – only to find that she was unable to. She stared at him, and he smirked.
"I like where you are. I can admire you much more from here."
"I hate you."
"Hmm, yet your body says otherwise." His eyes glittered, and Camille felt her heart pick up the pace.
"Loki…"
"Do not fear, Camille," he soothed her with that delectable voice of his. "It's too soon to be bedding you. I know you are not ready."
She flushed, a protest on her tongue, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. He smiled.
"Hush."
He caressed her cheek with his thumb, and pressed a kiss to her throat.
"It's entirely up to you. Whenever you are ready. You think you are now, but you are not. You'll know when you are, however. Yes. You will. And when you do… only then I shall take you."
His declaration made her quiver, and her words came out mortifyingly breathless.
"What if that's not what I want?"
He laughed softly, and his next words were pure sinful promise.
"Then I haven't done my job."
A/N: I couldn't resist this :P
And as for the translations:
C'est parfait = It's perfect
Parlez-vous français? = Do you speak French?
Un peu = A little
Vraiment? = Really?
Oui, si c'est que tu veux = Yes, if it is what you want
S'il te plait = If you please
Merci = Thank you
De rien = You're welcome/It's nothing
I hope you loved this!
Lightning xoxo
