I swear I'll fix this chapter later, but for now, let's just move the story along. If you have any suggestions on the romance/wooing part, hit me up. I have no idea what I'm doing. (Nor does Loki as this chapter shows. Or the very least he's doing it badly.)
Your reviews make my heart sing like a Disney character; thanks y'all.
Hawkz
What Might Have Been: Chapter X
Damn that stupid bet made years ago. Almost three seasons ago in fact! If not for that memorable night in the mountains looking at stars, Jane would have forgotten the incident. True to form, Loki forgot no debt owed to him. Never again, under no circumstances, not even pain of death, would Jane bet against her brother. Apparently betting with Loki led to him kissing her. She, his sister. Did, did he not see how wrong this was? Was he high off Vanaheim "herbs"? Disastrously drunk? Did Thor hit his head so hard in their last bout that all his screws came loose and went flying into the abyss?
Loki kissed her!
That fact rang loud and clear, repeating and repeating until the red that clad her cheeks was not the blushing virgin kind—it was the really pissed off virgin kind. All those insecurities, the drama, the doubt vanished quick as her snapping temper. Her fingernails pinched into his earlobe, trying in vain to draw blood while the violence of the actions shocked his eyes wide and slowed any bodily response. Jane leveled him with a glare rival to the Queen's and hissed low enough for only him to hear.
"Never do that again, brother." Releasing his ear Jane spun in her heels and her hair smacked his chest as she stormed over to the balcony. Anger did nothing to cull her grace and beauty, spine straight and chin held high as befitting a royal Asgardian. Loki gaped at her as she left, his mask in tatters and his thoughts in worse shape. He'd grab at one word, one thought and lose the connecting strands, until it was a torrent of repetition and half-thoughts.
That, she, that, where did that backbone come from? She who in all her dreams leaned into his touch and made the most delightful sounds denied him? That, that wasn't possible!
So this is what rejection feels like. Good thing his anger kept other emotions at bay. Fine, he spat in his mind, you want rough play, you got it little one.
He would find every wall she's built and bring them down with the finesse of a sledge hammer. But first, he had a certain dream to visit tonight. The Aesir side of him growled at the blatant refusal and challenge of his advances; the bestial half kept in secret and darkness grinned at the thrill of the hunt and chase. Oh, it liked this mortal.
Bunching up his muscles, Loki had every mind to join his partner on the balcony but a lasso of calm rationality pulled him back, urging him to think, collect his thoughts. A look of rage snarled below his illusionary politic mien; it did not want to think or ponder. It wanted her back here and damned her opinions otherwise. Bring her back, his bestial self growled at him, violently if necessary.
You are not Thor.
The back of his mind spoke so calmly, with such conviction and warning that Loki's breath got sucker-punched out of him. He wanted to double over from the weight the reflection pulled off his shoulders only to replace with a heaviness in his heart. His musings came quiet and scared after that.
If he were Thor, would she want him?
He felt sick entertaining the thought. Salty and sour, much like the taste of tears, stung his mouth. If he dare to eat anything now, it would all taste like rancid meat or rotten spoils, and he would lose his composure. Loki's hand shook and his closed it in a fist least anyone notice the cracks in his tromp l'oeil.
Jane's mental state was no less chaotic, cool evening breeze or no. She ducked behind one of the topiary pots large enough to disguise Thor decked in armor and vermillion cape. From behind the leaves she saw Gar step onto the balcony, his white hair swishing back and forth looking. For her. Jane hugged her knees a little closer. She didn't feel like talking to any one at the moment. Persistent, too, but Garikith was forced to retreat when one of his father's entourage called him over. Jane let out a breath.
If only being alone meant peace.
Her fingers traced her lips, and biting her bottom lip teased her with Loki's taste. Winter and forest. Refreshing cold and pinewood. She dragged her tongue along, tasting him again and flushed scarlet.
There was something very wrong with her.
She was attracted to her brother.
Maybe.
Possibly. (Damned for the blacker pits of Hel, if she was.)
(…and if she wasn't?)
If her heart beat for someone, they would have to—Jane paused, unsure. To what? Be what, do what?
Cherish her love of the stars, cherish her. Challenge her mind. She loved magic, a plus if they were a spell-caster. A certain spell-caster.
No, Jane snapped back. Traitorous, wicked thoughts.
A certain spell-caster who weaved wondrous wizardry.
No, she begged.
Story teller and spell-caster. He who loved her, not at first, but over time. Time he had, she didn't, but time he gave her. Time, then smiles, laughter, and a secretly delicate heart. He who guards his most cherished persons with his own personal wolf. A wolf that never left Jane's side. Always carting after her (and her after Loki), following her to the orrery, at her side those late, dark nights.
Shutting her eyes proved a mistake. The memories rushed to fill the blindness with color, sight, sound: "Illiterate" Loki telling her how to read runes; bringing her in and out of Dyfflin's tavern; Loki reading in the shade as she and Thor played tag, and Loki tripping his brother so Jane can escape; tickling her for painting his room to look like the stars again; getting annoyed at the mess of sketches in his room; yelling at her; almost striking her, but never hitting her, never; apologizing to her, apologizing solely to her; his bark of laughter; the smell of magic and leather and Loki; her missing him, the unbearable heartache at his abrupt departure; his vices, his virtues; dancing in the tavern; dancing in the halls. Loki, the trickster of Asgard, whose those eyes burned as if someone tossed copper in flames, who loved her.
Did he? Amorous affection, not familial sentiment? Could he?
Could she? (Yes, her heart begged her, yes, she could.)
"Oh gods," Jane moaned, tears in her eyes and an ache throbbing all over. She repeated the phrase like a mantra, a pray's chant for protection. "I can't. Can't, can't can't." A part of her heart broke at the admonishing admission. So concerned with building her walls Jane jumped when a minute green snake slithered up her calf and rested on a branch of the topiary.
Only one magician used green snakes as his calling card.
An irrational jolt of fear tingled at the base of her spine and Jane tried to melt into the wall. Loki's snakes didn't scare her anymore—startling her didn't count—not since she was ten, though it wasn't as if Loki didn't try on occasion. Loki would always offer her a present only for it to morph into serpent and spook the living daylights out of her. It cooed at her but Jane did not let its cuteness curtail her glower. It cooed again at her and against her better judgement, Jane lifted her gaze to look at it, really look and focus on it. Its tongue slithered in and out for a few breathes, drinking in her presence. Tipping back its head the snake spits out a seed, holding it just at its lips. With evolutionary beauty and patience, the seed opened, a curl of a green stem that blooms into a stunning multi-petaled flower Jane recognizes as a garden dahlia.
Green. Of course.
It waited, flower still carried on its tongue. She didn't move so the snake came a nudge closer, craning its neck out to her.
For you.
Jane wiped at the tears she refused to let fall and took the flower. Velvety soft and it smelled crisp and clean, the tingling residue of magic on her fingertips. Another snake was hanging from the potted tree now, a blank note pinched in its fangs. Magic wrote a runic phrase.
He wanted another dance.
Jane scoffed, loudly, and heard a shift of clothing not far. She chose to ignore it. The first serpent coughed up another flower and the runes on the card rearranged themselves.
Please?
Loki saying please would tickle her pink on any other day; just not today. Jane turned her back on the snakes now and walked away from the topiary, glaring resolutely at the city. Relentless as their creator, the two snakes wormed their way up to the balcony's railing. Flowers and card notes came in rapid succession of each other.
He promised to be good. He promised to make it up to her. He promised as many nights beneath the stars as she wanted. He promised her a puppy of her own (Jane would never tell him how close she came to caving in to that one.) Promises, promises, promises. Loki was another few shades more visible, most of his body hidden behind a pillar but Jane's peripherals caught a contrite bob to his head when she continued to ignore him.
Please, Jane.
Miserable and guilty and morose over what he did—that was the Loki here and now. Did he regret his actions? Jane internally scoffed. Loki regretted nothing, never had, never will. She snuck a glance at his direction. What was she hoping for? What did she want?
If only she knew.
Perhaps it was the years and years together that obscured her emotions—brother, friend, companion, confidant, lover? The last one made Jane inhale sharply, then sigh it out. Risks and rewards; pros and cons; dos and don'ts. So few choices leading to so many consequences.
Nights of sensation and passion and star-filled skies. Days of laughter and love and board games and card tricks. What would love—romantic love—change? Change, Jane spat internally. Change was a gamble, a bet, a chance and a dance on a double edged sword. One slip-up, one misstep was all it took to give yourself irreparable damage.
Please, her heart begged.
Steel and determination gripped her fiercely. She left behind the snakes and flowers—overflowing and dropping from the balcony now—and stalked bravely over to Loki. She walked with a courage that didn't reach all of her limbs but Jane tucked her nervousness behind a frown. Loki's green eyes followed her path, surprised and more than a little hopeful until he caught her frown.
The unspoken silence between them was thick and heavy. Jane fought to keep her gaze square with Loki's own.
"What do you want, Loki?"
"I'd like to d—"
"I said: What. Do. You. Want. Loki." Loki. Not brother. His mouth twitched into something not a smile, not a frown. His silver tongue did him no good for seconds, stretching into almost a minute. Jane caught sight of that terribly fragile, easily damaged heart her brother kept under lock and key, Loki's voice muffled to a volume loud enough for her ears and hers alone.
"You. Just you. All of you."
Jane swallowed a little and gathered back up her courage. One fist clutching his collar pulled him down, closer to eye level. Her eyes closed while Loki's flew wide open.
Jane kissed him.
There was a tongue courting his bottom lip and it was most definitely not his. Brief, passionate and dominating; that was the kiss Jane bequeathed him and it left him near panting. She pulled back, no longer frowning at him—almost smirking—and her sepia eyes glowed with life.
"Prove it."
She walked out then, leaving him and the gala behind with a seductive tilt to her hips. Not even his illusions could mask the look of utter shock slackening his jaw.
Fandral whistled. "Our God of Lies has his work cut out for him."
"You know I always liked her," Volstagg nodded to himself and the other warriors. "Reminds me of my spitfire wife." The Warriors Three all sat at one of the long tables, drinking mead and Alfheim wine and enjoying a wonderful view of their Midgardian mortal and Asgardian prince. Fandral watched Jane saunter out into the hallways.
Hogun sipped his wine and cautioned his friend, "If you value your eyes and the head they're attached to, I'd keep them on something Loki doesn't covet."
Fandral sighed. "Wearing that dress I'm surprised her brothers didn't blindfold every man at the gala tonight." Sif took that instant to rejoin their group.
"Our Queen has no patience for troglodytes or overprotective bordering on exasperating older brothers."
Volstagg's grin had a smear of goose grease. "He was going to abandon you on the dance floor soon as she entered save for Loki beating him to the punch." Though she assumed an indifferent mien, there was an irritated tension to Lady Sif's shoulders. Thor continued to dance, a different partner each song. Fandral drained his cup and waved over a servant for a refill.
"How long until he notices, you think?" Sif asked.
"When Loki takes her as his consort and Thor doesn't knock." Hogun hummed but did not disagree with Fandral's assessment. Their leader could be woefully dense on these matters.
The rotund warrior chewed on his drumstick bone pensively. "Does our direct-indirect support of Loki translate into saving his skin when Thor does find out?"
No one said anything.
"Brothers fight all the time," Hogun supplied first. The other two jumped in soon after.
"Of course. All the time. It's healthy for their relationship."
"It would be cathartic, for the both of them I imagine."
"And the castle does need some renovations." Sif rolled her eyes as they dissolved into which wings of the castle should be sacrificed come Thor's and Loki's confrontation. Their discussion grew to encompass the castle's courtyard and town square.
When Jane laid down such a challenge, Loki expected he'd have to prove his romantic mettle; not that Jane would test the mettle of his patience and restraint. Time and time again she needled him and the most recent event left him impatient for night fall, (for Jane to fall asleep more importantly though how she managed to still cut him off before the really good stuff bewildered him). Her most recent transgression was too much to bear. The short version is that Loki loathed and loved summer. The longer version begins with a suggestion by Thor and a lack of foresight on Loki's part.
Thor burst into the hall, Jane laughing as she rode piggy-back style—the thunder god spoiled her so—and met his friends with a bearded grin. Unusually so, Loki lounged in in one of the chairs close to the fire, flipping pages of a grimoire. Still part shadow of the group, he stood apart from the group, distant. That the Warriors Three acted more, courteous, to him was bemusing, just shy of puzzling to him. They were Thor's banner men; blinded by loyalty and Thor's boyish charm, arrogant grace and unfounded conviction he knew best. Progress these past ten years or so did not erase over a thousand years of ingrained deeds. Yet, they offered him more respect than Loki could recall in centuries, if ever.
Loki's eyes flickered to Jane. She was getting spun around by Thor, both laughing, both full of sunshine and smiles, bright personalities and so similar for their difference in race. True siblings. He didn't like that comparison—it implied he was unworthy of Thor, an erroneous opinion—but it was better than implying Jane could be anything other than a sister to Thor. Their playful banter and show of affection proved too bright for him; Loki dropped his gaze back to the book of incantations.
Five twirls too many had Jane flopping to the floor with an oof to the laughter of her brother and Warriors Three. The entire room continued to spin as Thor picked her up, setting her on her feet. She didn't make it one step before toppling again.
"Jocularity aside," Sif gathered their attention albeit with Loki continuing his reading, "why have you called us together Thor?"
"Ah, friends. Brother. Jane and I have been struck by a marvelous idea. It has been centuries for us but Jane hasn't been to Asgard's sea since her childhood days. Tis summer. I think we could all enjoy, what were your words? Fun in the sun?"
The Asgardian male warriors were quick to latch onto the idea, though reticence from Hogun was his natural state of being and the Vanir gave only a grunt. Numerous pairs of eyes focused on his person but Loki did not look up. "Have fun," he waved them away.
"Come brother! How long has it been since we've enjoyed a revelry outside battle? We should have adventures outside war." That alone got Loki to look up from his book and level his brother with an incredulous stare. Thor? God of Thunder whose bloodlust was second to none and saw no greater honor than roaring into battle? That was not the Aesir who stood before him. Prideful, yes. Superiority complex, yes. Fate-given fortune and the undeserved love of his people, yes—all that was still there. Just, less battle hungry and touches of humility. The reason behind this nudging difference needled Loki constantly due to his curious nature. His bloodletting brother did not see "fun in the sun" as a worthy adventure. Not since their youthful years, not since the years Loki looked at his sibling with such emphatic ardor and trust.
Jane walked up to him with a beguiling quirk of her lips. "Please Loki?"
He scowled. "No."
"Fine. I'll ride in Fandral's arms the whole way." His fist found her scarf before she could take one step.
"Your faith in my gentlemanly virtues is touching, trickster." Fandral's spoke flatly.
"I would not let you carry her either, friend," Thor supplied.
"Hey!"
Jane only grinned up at him when he stood, closing his book and sending her an unamused frown. Not funny, Jane.
Pretty funny, Loki.
It only took so long to make it to the beach because Volstagg insisted on a light lunch. The light lunch took up four boxes of food space, two barrels of ale and five servants to carry it all, even with the group riding horseback to the shoreline. Horseback and elk-back anyway. The men wasted no time in stripping to the minimum and Thor launched a challenge to which his three friends readily took up. Loki shifted uneasily to the side. His physique did not garner approval the way Thor's did; no, his garnered ridicule, always ridicule. Thor didn't wait for him to undress and Loki came up sputtering, furious. Fandral was chortling something but Loki had already charged at his brother, tackling him and the two wrestled, throwing insults and taunts and Loki lost clothing piece by piece.
"I leave you two for ten minutes and you're already shirtless and wet?" Jane voice was wickedly amused. Sif stood beside Jane, who wore a charming half smile, and the men fought wandering eyes. Sif had a warrior's figure softened by feminine curves and contours Jane didn't think she'd ever achieve in two mortal lifetimes. She tied her hair up in a queue—grimacing to this day each time she looked herself in the mirror and saw the black curls of hair—and the bathing suit clung on her tighter than a second skin. Jane gave her eldest brother a Cheshire cat grin.
"Sif's eyes are up here, Thor."
He coughed out something about honor and struggled to find his tongue. "Take off the cloak and join us. The water is crisp and cool. You both will find it quite refreshing." Sif took that as a challenge and ran up on of the rock formations to somersault into a dive. All but Loki clapped or whistled their admiration. Loki, as it were, had his attention on another female and all the blood drained from his face and headed south. Thor's throat mimicked his own strangled garble.
Both brothers knew their way around Asgard's bordellos—as well as a number of other red light districts in other Realms—and thus, were no novices when it came to women's clothing. This, this attire Jane (Thor's little sister and Loki's would-be lover) was wearing was not clothing; it was strips of cloth that covered the bare essentials.
Midgardians call it a bikini.
Running through water is physics-wise very difficult. Loki did not let that stop him. She was going to put that cloak back on and never take it until proper clothing or private accommodations could be secured. Jane moved fast for a mortal, slipping under his grasp and leaping into the water off the same rock as Sif, albeit with less flair. Her enthusiastic laugh disclosed her enjoyment. She swam to the group and dashed Loki's hopes and chances to find her suitable swimwear.
She was torturing him. Sadistic, sadistic torture of his psyche. More than once he watched water trail its way from the dip of her neck into other dips and angles down to her stomach—a very nice stomach—and other meridional regions. Loki of Asgard jealous of water. He would take that secret to his grave, among others. She caught him staring and smirked. Loki growled.
Fine. Two could play at that game.
Volstagg called time out for lunch and Loki used that to his advantage. Tried to anyway. Jane was snuggled into Thor's lap, still wearing nothing but that damning swimsuit and Thor huddled protectively over her, daring anyone to look at his sister in any disrespectful way. (Behind his indifferent mask Loki's gaze was very respectful. He admired the curves, admired the light skin made darker by one shade of a tan, admired that long neck that craned back and gave him a pleasant view when she spoke to Thor. Loki ogled at her with nothing but respect.) Jane caught his look, the nonchalant façade, and smirked. Again. Loki ground his teeth and swore retribution.
Femme fatale, his eyes told her.
Jane's smirk grew into a smile as she licked at the cream dribbling down her thumb. She was playing this game better than he had foreseen. A number of curses described his feelings at the thought. The bridle on his control was breaking but no hint of agitation came through his posture and his voice struck the question in his off-handed way.
"Jane, have you ever jumped off from the Dragon's Tooth?"
"Brother, do not goad our sister so. Tis not safe." Thor gave him a look of reproach. Loki kept his disinterested focus on Jane.
"I bet you couldn't." As if Jane was making another bet with her brother. Just, no. "Too scary for you. And Midgardians are so fragile." Jane sniffed in a haughty way. "Why not even Thor dares go near those rock formations, let alone jump off them."
"You dare color me a coward?"
"No, just red on occasion. I'll have to rethink that in the future. Maybe blue. You might be able to pull off blue."
Thor surged to his feet, the provocation working its magic. He swore to prove his brother's words falsehoods and rallied his friends to his cause, all of them went over to the Dragon's Tooth.
Only, not all of them went.
The illusions of Jane and Loki turned the corner and two beats later, the caster let the cloaking magic fall. Jane was halfway under him, his hand muffling whatever curses she wished to say. Loki's smile was deviously demonic. Jane glared at him, not able to do much else. Her brothers had strength beyond anything she could achieve.
"Well, that was pathetically easy." He removed his hand on her mouth but kept her pinned to the sand.
"Yes, you can do magic. Hurray. Get off Loki."Jane's last statement was not a request. He grinned like he hadn't heard her, letting his weight sag further down.
"Don't wanna."
Jane rolled her eyes. "This is because I said Thor's a better swimmer, isn't it? He throws me father, too. Maybe it's his biceps…" Loki growled at her. He never liked it when she'd only talk about Thor or worse, compared them. Much as he liked to deny it, brotherly comparisons continued to irk him.
"You know I do not like being cast next to Thor and hear of our differences," Loki said. His eyes told her to change subjects and fast.
"You don't have to get snippy just 'cause you're fatter than he."
"What?" Loki went from angry to incredulous at her words. He, fat?
"Very fat. So fat I can't breathe."
Loki's green eyes scrutinized her, his facial expression looking all too much like a cat who found a bowl full of cream. "If you wanted your breath taken away, you need only ask." Jane's eyes widened in realization, but squirming back didn't get her very far and certainly not far enough.
He didn't ask for permission, he rarely did, but his tongue worked such magic that Jane found she didn't really care the longer he kissed her. The rational side of her shouted warnings and cautionary tales, the phrase playing with fire droning over and over in the back of her mind. Jane grinned into the kiss, fingers drowning themselves in Loki's hair.
Fire tasted good.
She didn't say anything but her fingers brushed reverently over his form and his abs held her gaze for some time. Loki preened at the unspoken praise. She never admired Thor thus, or any other man. Others may mock his for his skinny, lean frame, but not her. Never her. Loki hugged her closer, the acceptance and affection lighting her eyes making him burn.
Allowing her to breath was imperative, forcing Loki to pull back after a fashion, thus, he occupied his lips by trailing kiss from her jaw to her throat. He murmured something against her collarbone and Jane jerked back.
"What do you mean I taste better in reality? Loki?" Though she asked, Jane's brain made the connection real fast and a flush of ire choked her. "It was you? It was you! Loki!" He was the one invading her dreams, not some subconscious desire reaching havoc with her mind. No, the only one reaching havoc on her mind was the Aesir before her. Loki was sure he's never seen his adopted sibling look so angry before. She looked ravishing. When he tried to kiss her again he met resistance. "Loki!"
"Technically, I didn't do anything to you. And if I did, it was nothing you did not fully enjoy." His nose snubbed at the idea that he did anything wrong. Jane's tongue worked to give his a severe verbal rebuke, the likes this side of the Realm has never seen when the four returned. Loki sits back far enough—barely—so that Thor can see nothing amiss but his grip on Jane's upper arm is still there, light but firm.
"Hey, there are you two are! You vanished soon as Thor jumped! You missed the whole show." Jane remained mute to Volstagg's comments, but kicked at Loki. His surprise loosens his grip enough for her to stomp over to Thor.
"Jane?" His brow furrows into concern.
"Hold him back." Like so many times before, his body does as Jane asks—demands—and Loki snarls at him to let go but Thor does not.
"Brother, why is our sister wroth with you?" Confusion, not suspicion, layer his bus eyes and Loki spins a tale of him teasing her with trickery and magic. The usual suspects. Jane whistles, gathering her things, and Kraki departs from the horses, trotting over to her. No one is quite sure what is happening other than another brother-sister confrontation. It is most unusual for Jane to be so angry with the trickster god, though. Most unusual.
She mounts her elk, a furious frown marring her face. "Brother," and now Loki knows he's in big, big trouble, "I'll be sure not to bother you in future evenings with my thoughts. I'll seek another gentleman for my troubles."
Translation: I'm getting laid before you can seduce me, stupid Loki!
"Don't you dare Jane!" The whites of his eyes disappear into a green storm of fury but Thor is physically stronger and continues to hold Loki back, asking what happened, what's wrong, but all Loki can process is Jane riding away. His mind taunts him with images of Jane laying with another man and it infuriated him beyond reason. Maybe his physical body would visit this eve and see how she likes that! But by that time it could be too late, by that time she could be in a man's embrace or—He swallows a sour, bitter pill at the thought of what else.
Thor is still demanding what happened between the two and Loki's rage gets the better of him, working a lie furiously so that he may catch up to her. "Dammit Thor! Our sister is sexually charged because Fandral packed the wrong herbs and she ingested tea made from Freyr's herbs!" Freyr. God of fertility. That god. The shock of silence turns deadly when the God of Thunder slowly turns to face his friend, a look of rage as potent as the black blood of the Dark Elves on his face. His grip on Loki loosens just a tick.
"What did you give my sister?" In the sky, the clouds gather and darken. Lightning cracks in a bright flash of white. All the others take one step back.
"No, wait, I swear I didn't! Those herbs are here! Here..in my pocket?" Not there. The swordsman goes pale and curses the deceiver and his penchant for pickpocketing, because he knows he did not slip the mortal anything. (Did he?) And furthermore, how did Loki even know he carried such herbs? Thor stalks over to him, Loki forgotten. Said Aesir has already hoofed it to his horse and is galloping after her. "Thor, let's use our reasoning. Let's think this through." Because that always worked when the Aesir got overcome by fits of rage compounded by his protectiveness regarding his sister. The other two warriors and Sif take another step back.
They would remember Fandral fondly.