AN: Once again, a conjoined effort of a chapter, because we are basically a hivemind of Lokimis excitement. There's a crown, there's a fight, and there's a bruise, but neither are quite as cold as might be expected. - K
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When at last the others shuffled off the ice, red faced and grinning, Loki laid a gentle hand on Aramis's arm, something within him not yet ready to return to that stuffy room where he'd come so close to losing everything.
Aramis seemed to understand, as Loki had known he would, hanging back without a word as the others tramped off. There was a distant yell as someone, presumably Porthos, tried to slip ice down D'Artagnan's shirt, and then they were alone.
"That truly was amazing, Loki," Aramis said softly. The sun had sunk while they frolicked on the pond and now hung just over the edge of the trees, bathing the clearing in reddish light.
The use of his name sent strange shivers running down his spine, and he found himself wanting to do more. For the first time in his life, he didn't have to hold back, and Aramis was a willing audience.
With a simple gesture, the ice melted back into smooth water. Another gentle wave and the wildflowers that had been shriveling in the summer heat burst into bloom once more, an ocean of blossoms stretching before them.
Aramis's breath caught at the sight, wide eyes drinking in the beauty of the meadow. He didn't wait for Loki to speak, stepping forward even as the spell took hold. Warm fingers slipped into his own and Loki returned the pressure unthinkingly, allowing Aramis to lead him into the center of the sun-drenched clearing.
They paused near the middle, and Loki found his heart beat speeding up at the sight of Aramis amidst the wildflowers, rays of sun making his dark curls into a wild crown around his head.
He looked beautiful.
The achingly familiar desire to kiss him stirred sluggishly in Loki's veins, and it was a long moment before the staggering realization hit him: he could.
Aramis seemed to sense his intent, turning towards him with a look both vulnerable and sensual, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Loki lunged, surprising himself with his own fervor as he captured those invitingly pink lips with his own, one hand anchoring on Aramis's while the other fisted in untamed curls. Aramis gasped at the contact, pushing back against Loki as if trying to melt into his chest.
Loki bit down on Aramis's lip and Aramis whimpered into his mouth. He took a step forward, one leg sliding between Loki's own as his hands pressed tightly into the small of Loki's back.
He pulled his head back slightly, trailing his lips along Aramis's jaw until they reached his neck. The thrum of Aramis's pulse beneath the hot skin was intoxicating, and Loki pressed his lips against the spot, sucking greedily until Aramis moaned, trying to sway closer.
Unfortunately, pressed together as they were, the movement caused them both to overbalance. Loki fell backwards, tucking Aramis tightly against himself to prevent any fresh injuries, and landed on his back amid the bobbing heads of a spray of purple wildflowers.
Aramis didn't seem to object to the change in position, attempting to clamber up him to reach Loki's lips, but the incident had brought him back to his senses, and he chuckled, pushing Aramis gently away even as he admired his enthusiasm.
"You are in no state for such pastimes," Loki told him with mock sternness, delighted when Aramis actually pouted.
"But we're already on the ground," he said, a touch petulantly, fluttering his eyelashes outrageously when Loki laughed.
"That is not a very good reason," Loki said dryly, rolling Aramis neatly off his chest to sprawl among some pale red blossoms nearby. Aramis scowled and threw a handful of grass at him, scattering it across his shirt.
"Behaving like a child won't change my mind," Loki chuckled. "You are still recovering, and that will not be happening yet."
"But it will be happening?" Aramis asked immediately, sharp eyes fixing on Loki's own, and he fought the urge to gulp at the blatant invitation they held.
"Possibly," he said uneasily, not wishing to have this discussion at this time. Perhaps Aramis picked up on his unease, for he hmphed and rolled onto his back, a vaguely sulky look crossing his face.
Then he brightened as he noticed the explosion of color around them, laughing delightedly as he reached up to pluck some yellow flowers from beside Loki's head.
"This is beautiful, mon ange," he murmured, now reaching for a pale blue flower across Loki's chest.
"It was nothing," Loki replied, pleased with the obvious happiness on Aramis's face as he sat up, eager fingers plucking more blossoms. "I merely enhanced what was already there."
"Your mere presence would do that," Aramis said slyly, and Loki rolled his eyes at the obvious try to tempt him back into the mood.
"Tell me, do lines like that often work?" he asked sarcastically, but even he could tell the words lacked a biting edge. He sounded ridiculously sentimental.
It didn't bother him.
Aramis thought for a moment, then chuckled. "You'd be surprised."
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the drone of far off insects while Aramis amassed a small trove of flowers, sorted into piles by length. Loki folded a hand behind his head and stared at the cloudless blue sky and reveling in the feeling of being at peace with nature.
"Aramis?" he asked after a while, rolling onto his side to prop his head up with one hand.
"Yes, mon ange?" Aramis hummed, stripping a long stem of its leaves.
Loki hesitated before asking the question that had been skirting in the back of his minds for days. "What does dauphin mean?"
Aramis paused, a flicker of something that looked like pain crossing his features, and Loki immediately wanted to retract his question, take back everything he had said that night: anything to take that look from Aramis's brown eyes.
But then it was gone, like a passing cloud, and Aramis smiled at him, twisting blossoms neatly around the stripped stem in motions too quick for Loki's eye to follow. "It means prince," he said simply, and Loki understood his reluctance to explain, because it brought them too close to an issue neither was ready to face. "Or, more accurately, the heir to the throne."
"Thor was always the heir," Loki murmured, a familiar bitterness sweeping through him, though it was lessened oddly, tempered by the beauty of the meadow and Aramis's charming smile as his hands wove in and out around the stem. "It was he who was to wear the crown."
"When was that decided?" Aramis asked softly.
Loki snorted. "Probably the moment they realized he'd be the perfect warrior and I nothing but his shadow." He actively attempted to summon some disdain as he spoke, but the warmth of the sun drained his resentments. "My father thought Thor better suited to the throne."
"Then your father is a fool." Aramis's words were so simple, so matter-of-fact, that Loki stared at him. No one had ever called Odin a fool but his mother, and she said it with affectionate exasperation.
Aramis must have seen his shocked look, for he shrugged unapologetically. "If he could not see your value, then he is a fool, and you do not need his crown."
Loki sat up, about to retort with words that would have inevitably shattered the fragile peace when Aramis flushed. "You can have this one instead."
Something was thrust into his chest and he looked down in amazement at the prefect circlet Aramis had created, woven of interlocking stems and set with blossoms bright as gemstones in an array of colors that would put his mother's wardrobe to shame.
Aramis had made him a crown.
It was not as useful as his sheath, nor as delicious as the pastry, and yet the simple flower circlet in his hands seemed in that moment the greatest gift he'd ever been given, for it was given with all of Aramis's generosity and love as recompense for what he had once considered his greatest failure.
It was as if the impossible man had offered his very soul.
Aramis had gone very red now, apparently on the verge of bolting from a misplaced sense of inadequacy, so Loki grabbed his hands and lightly kissed the back of his fingers, unable to say all that had passed through his mind.
Grinning, he carefully placed the circlet on his head, and Aramis's face lit with joy so brilliant it was almost painful to behold. A stray lavender flower slipped from the crown to land in his lap, and unthinkingly he reached out and tucked it neatly into Aramis's dark hair.
Aramis's response was immediate as he flung himself forward, crashing against Loki as warm lips sought his own.
This time, Loki did not push him away.
Aramis stretched, enjoying the little aches and pains because they were real. There was a bruise on his knee where he had caught the edge of the bed, an itchiness to his eyes from waking up too early, and a sore spot on his neck.
The latter was his favourite, because Loki had put it there in the meadow of flowers. His cool lips had been soft against his throat, a perfect contrast to the harsh heat of his mouth as he sucked a mark that had made Aramis arch against slender hips.
Joy sparkled through him at the memory, intense and wonderful, and when he looked into the mirror and regarded the dark circle on his skin, it deepened into heat.
Where on earth was his angel when he needed him?
He didn't like being the one to wake up last, but Loki was even sneakier than he was – and Aramis was extremely skilled in creeping out of bed at ridiculous o'clock in the morning.
That wasn't even including the fact that Loki had waited for him to pass out in exhaustion downstairs and then must have carried him to bed. It frustrated him that Loki was using all of his tricks, because he was certain that Loki had slept in the chair by his pillow.
And he knew that Loki would have done it and thought that it was deserved.
Foolish angel, when would Loki realise that all he deserved was happiness?
Rubbing his thumb over the mark again – his smile a little sly – he deliberately left it uncovered and wandered to the window, wondering where Loki could have gotten to.
He stopped dead when he looked into the yard.
In a flash, he threw himself from the room, slamming his door open and bolting along the hallway. He spared half a glance for the still closed door to Porthos' room, sending the inhabitants an irritated thought because they got sleep in this morning.
Why, why today of all days, when he had thought that Loki had finally started getting on-
He stopped dead again, this time on the balcony overlooking the yard.
He stopped, not just because of what he saw, but because of what he heard.
"No, it works better if you twist your wrist."
"Like this?"
"Yes."
"Would it not be better to balance on the left foot, instead?"
"You make a good point. That does feel smoother, actually."
"It seems you don't know everything, Athos."
Athos chuckled at Loki's mischievous smirk and they both altered their footing before bringing their swords up against each other's, silver against gold. They moved slowly, talking to each other and offering corrections, both of them with tiny satisfied smiles on their faces.
They were training.
Aramis felt his jaw drop and all he could was stare in shock.
When he had seen them from his window, swords raised and brows furrowed, he had been convinced that Loki was up to his old tricks and had challenged Athos again. That would have meant that there would be scowls and sutures and good God it wasn't even midday yet…
He had never been so deliriously happy to be wrong.
At some unspoken signal, they sped up, their smooth movements turning into flashes of steel and silk as they circled each other. Loki was still more aggressive, but then Athos said something and they slowed again, following complex patterns that made Aramis gape in awe even as his heart bucked in his chest
He wasn't totally concerned for their safety.
He was biased, he knew that, but Loki was truly stunning.
Neither of them were wearing their cloaks – which was surprising for Loki – and they were dressed light for the warm weather and a simple spar.
Loki wasn't wearing his green silk shirt today, and Aramis wondered if it was because he didn't want to dirty it. He treated it with a reverence that made something soar in Aramis' chest.
He would need to visit Constance again, especially if he obeyed the almost overwhelming urge to entice Loki into the shadows and tear his clothes off.
Heat was a languorous warmth in his stomach, but it was surprisingly peaceful to watch Athos and Loki move just at the extent of their abilities, not quite pushing each other but merely learning new tactics.
Hiding friendly banter under the guise of a mutually beneficial spar.
Aramis felt a fond smile curve his lips at their stubbornness. The prince and the comte, both with dark pasts and skills with a sword that belied natural law.
Then again, Loki was very good at doing that.
They both stepped back seemingly at the same time, but they were both far too fast, far too perceptive for Aramis to be certain which had alerted the other.
Athos glanced up at him and then murmured something to Loki, who snorted with amusement and his reply sounded incredibly dry.
They were talking about him.
"We're merely sparring, Aramis," Athos remarked, a teasing half smile lighting his features.
"I told you he would come looking," Loki said to Athos, giving Aramis an amused raise of his eyebrow. "We're perfectly safe."
"Yes," Aramis drawled, enticed down the stairs by their playful moods. "That's what d'Artagnan says too, except he says it around a swollen lip and a sense of pride."
Loki sniffed haughtily, but humour danced in his eyes. "I can assure you that my pride is far larger than d'Artagnan's."
"You don't need to assure me of that, mon ange."
A knowing smirk flirted with Loki's lips, but it melted away when Aramis self-consciously rubbed his neck, accidentally giving the tiniest wince when his fingers touched the sensitive mark.
Emerald eyes locked onto the movement and suddenly blazed with heat.
The mark did too, and desire suddenly sparked like fireworks between them.
Athos coughed, giving them both an entertained, slightly affronted, expectant look. "We were sparring."
Aramis gave his friend a guilty grin, but Loki was still focused on his neck as he murmured, "Your elbow was too far out on the second lunge, perhaps you should go and work on it."
Athos blinked for a moment and then gave a surprised, wry laugh; his look was at Aramis this time and it said, it's about time someone else knew what they were talking about.
Aramis chuckled and replied, don't pretend you aren't enjoying having a new sparring partner.
Athos tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement, d'Artagnan was growing despondent.
Loki interrupted and cut Athos a glance that clearly said, goodbye Athos.
Athos smirked and inclined his head in a farewell before disappearing up the stairs. Aramis hoped with a little mischievous selfishness – something that he had definitely picked up on from Loki – that he was going to bang incessantly on Porthos' door.
And then he rather forgot about everything else, because Loki had closed the gap between them and tilted Aramis' chin up with one cool finger, his gaze intent on the tell-tale bruise.
His heart jack-hammered against his ribs and it hurt ever so sweetly.
"I could remove this," Loki said with matter-of-fact huskiness, and it wasn't quite a question, and it wasn't quite a taunt.
"If you do," Aramis replied around the hitch in his breath, "I expect you to make another."
Loki's smile was sly and seductive; sultry knowledge a lidding of his eyelids. "Ah, so you left it on show on purpose?"
"Yes," he breathed, and inhaled sharply when Loki's pleased surprise manifested in dark delight.
"Exhibitionism is,, not something I had ever before considered."
Aramis licked his lips, gasping a laugh when Loki's gaze darted to them. "Nor I."
Loki raised an eyebrow, sly amusement curling his lip. "I find that difficult to believe."
"It's not people seeing the mark, that I like," he whispered, only half aware that they were still in the stable yard. "It's their not knowing who put it there."
A stillness overcame Loki, belied slightly by the emerald inferno in his eyes. He took another step forward and his finger curled a little more possessively against his jaw.
He automatically took a step backwards, and it immediately felt as if he was being stalked.
"Do you mean to tell me," Loki's voice was so very low and there was a thread of the most delicious threat entwined in it, "That you have had other such marks there?"
Aramis' breath came short and quick, his chest rising and falling as he stepped backwards again and Loki came after him, their movements slow and ominous.
"Yes?"
Territorial anger tightened Loki's features and Aramis made a small prayer to God that he had never felt the need to actually return to Porthos whenever Loki had tried to spurn him.
He liked his friend very much alive.
Loki's fingers moved from his chin to his neck, lightly brushing over the mark as they took another step into the shadows. Aramis jerked when his back met the stable wall and knew that he looked as cornered as prey did when Loki's reactionary smile was dangerous.
"And did you show those ones off, too?" A calm question, but it shook Aramis to his toes with its subtle intensity.
Aramis gulped and it brought the tender skin of his throat into contact with Loki's hovering thumb. "Only ever yours, mon ange, only ever you."
There was that ridiculously attractive haughtiness that only Loki could manage so well, and it made Aramis let out a tiny noise of want.
Loki's other arm shot out to brace on the other side of Aramis' head and he didn't even flinch at the noise, so enraptured was he by a commanding gaze that bid he wait.
Caged by slim muscle that could somehow so easily overpower him, Aramis was like a bird that fluttered nervously in a golden cage.
"I," Loki murmured, breath at once cool and burning hot against his lips as he leaned closer, "Do not share." Loki's thumb dug into the mark on his neck and Aramis groaned, his eyes almost rolling back into his head with pure, blinding pleasure.
Pain sparked decadently over his nerve endings and then Loki's cruel smile caught his lower lip in another bite of delightful torture.
There was a heady moment where he knew that he was just as in control of the situation as Loki was, for if Aramis told him so, they would stop immediately. His angel's unfathomable power would not hurt him.
The thought was almost enough to drive him to his knees.
He brought his hands up to Loki's chest, curving his fingers just slightly before drawing them down pale skin over stark collarbone. When Loki's eyelids closed ever so briefly, Aramis regained enough poise to lean forward, drag his teeth across sharp jawline, and whisper, "Neither do I."
The last thing he remembered coherently was a sound that sounded like a strangled moan and then being pushed back against the wall and surprisingly feverish hands untucking his shirt and gripping onto his bare hips to pull him back up against slimmer ones.
There were a few more marks on his neck by the time they saw Athos half an hour later.
They weren't quite as noticeable as the deep purple one on Loki's pale skin, or the faint satisfied flush on his sharp cheekbones.
AN: Because now that Loki's started responding, we are struggling not to write smut at any given occasion. Oh, blue sky, smut; smiles, smut; sparring, smut. Perhaps you'd like to see some? Let us know, please write us a review and maybe it will encourage us to post it!... - K
We're basically looking for any excuse to justify the writing of smut. Do not disappoint us. - L
^Correction: we wrote some. Now who wants to see it? - L