I don't understand why he is so jealous of my presence. I have given him every evidence I know how of my feelings, yet always he seeks more, questioning my heart's dedication to him. But he questions so much, these days. Nothing seems to be enough for him, and he puts me off if ever I offer help.
I don't know if I can be what he wants.
What I want is not to think about this. I want to laugh, and play pranks, and dance, and make love for hours, with Loki, for as long as I may. I blow out a sigh, conjuring a small breeze to whirl fallen flower petals over my head, and fold my arms behind my head. I do wonder what he's doing in there. I think, if I can't see him tonight, I'll make that trip to Vanaheimr I've been wanting.
Someone else slips control of the magic from me, but the sun is warm against my skin and I don't care enough to move and see who it is. The petals swing circles into the sky, and a few escape the spell and drift onto my face. I let my eyes close against the tickle of it, and lift a hand to brush them away. A firm grip stops my motion, and at that my eyes shoot open.
A half-familiar face hovers over mine, framed in long, dark hair. The stuff curls madly at the ends, prickling at my face. Her skin is pale, cream-pale, dotted with a few tiny golden freckles over the nose. The eyes are what strike familiarity in me, deep green and sharp, and the angle of the cheekbones. The hand that clasps mine is narrow, long-fingered, but strong with it.
Her lips curve in a quick, flashing grin. I have my suspicions as to who this is, though I can hardly believe he pulled it off; it is a fantastic magic if so. I hold my peace, though, curious to see what happens next.
We stare at each other, breathing shallow, for a long delicious moment. I give a gentle tug, to see if I may be allowed to free myself, and her grip tightens to the point of pain, so I relax. She pins that hand over my head, brushing the petals off my face with the other. Her hand is cool, and I have to close my eyes against the touch.
There's something hurtful here, running just under the surface of what seems to be going on. I can't quite think what it might be, but there's a terrible pain in the eyes of the girl hovering over me, something I'm not used to seeing so clearly. The sun shines red against my closed eyelids, blocked out by flicking leaf patterns and the blown hair of the other girl.
"Look at me." The voice is as pure-perfect as the rest of her, liquid and low. As I open my eyes, she sits back on her heels, releasing my hand, and tips her head to one side. Her gaze is disconcerting; I don't think I'm supposed to be seeing what I see there. One hand drops to my bare feet, tracing around the anklebone, exploring along my heel and up over the arch. She glances away, eyes now following the paths her fingers trace along my skin.
"No one will find us here," I say, sitting up on one elbow. "If you want to explore." This swift glance is sharp, cutting, but I meet it steadily, grave and serious. She bites at her lower lip, full and sensuous, and I have to breathe in sharply against the cruel surge of desire. The nod, acquiescing, is tiny, a bare dip of the chin.
I sit up, tucking my legs underneath me, and clasp her wrists gently, drawing her close to me. She nestles against my breasts, face tipped up to mine. It s an implied invitation, and I take it, kissing as girlfriends do, sublimely sweet. Drawing back, I trace the soft arc of one eyebrow, teasing the dark hairs into perfect shape. Her dress is simple and loose-fitting, leaving ample room for me to brush my hand over the rounded curve of a shoulder and slide the neckline down. There's very clearly nothing beneath the light linen, so I collect a few petals and slip them down the line between her breasts, one hand over her fast-beating heart.
She shifts against me, leaning her back against my breasts, and pulls the drawstring at her throat loose. Thus freed, the fabric slumps down both shoulders, giving me a wide expanse of bosom to play my fingertips over. I take my time about it, shaping the subtle curves of her throat and shoulders, tracing the inner slopes of her breasts. She shudders against me, fingers splaying languidly in the grass.
We writhe a bit together, and I slide my hands over the taut skin of her abdomen. She throws her head back on my shoulder, keening very softly into my ear. I glide my fingertips by slow inches lower until they meet tangled curls, and she whimpers as I pause. Her throat is invitingly arched, so I kiss my way along it, setting my teeth to caress her pulse.
"Don't stop!" A fevered, desperate gasp. I take it in, drinking down her rasping breaths, and slide my fingers into her welcoming warmth. Her whole body flexes in pleased shock against me. After a moment for her to relax, I curve my fingers within her body, eliciting another stutter in her breathing, another low keen. Her hips rise, seeking.
"Shhh," I say against one shell-curved ear. My free hand traces the out-thrust arc of hipbone, while I twist my fingers within her. Her cry this time is louder, and I allow myself a small smile, buried in her tangling curls. She wants rhythm, but I won't give it to her, now rocking in and out, now twisting, now very very carefully scraping my fingernails inside her. Her back describes a perfect arch as she seeks to impale herself on my moving hand, increasingly desperate for release.
I still, thrust deeply inside her body, and whisper, "Do you see? How it is to be possessed? Controlled, contained?" I let one finger twitch, and she cries out, something incoherent and acquiescent. Relenting, I brush the pearl of flesh above her opening with my thumb, and she trembles in climax against me. I close my eyes and cradle her relaxing body, still smiling that faint, half-cruel smile.
