"Let's do things the Midgardian way for once, shall we?"
"And do things a hundred times slower. Nice."
"What's the hurry. You keep telling me you will live forever, surely you've got time to spare."
"But you're not even a lay mortal anymore. Didn't you tell me it took you five seconds to reach the top of the Everest once?"
"Ye-ahh. About that. Haha." Stephen laughed uneasily. "The Ancient One had quite a sense of humour. You would have gotten along so well, had you two met."
Loki studied him with an indecipherable expression on his face, but the look that suspiciously hinted at his intention to say something regarding the matter passed as quickly as it came on.
"Your Pick-a-Portal service needed an entry visa that you forgot to apply for or something?"
"Goodness. You're more a New Yorker than me now." Stephen sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Loki. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I simply wanted to spend time with you? In a place like this where time moves so slowly it seems to move not at all…I can see myself spending eternity here enjoying the privilege of thy company."
"You are acting stranger than usual, Strange." Loki looked at him suspiciously. "You want something from me. Not even your awful attempt at Shakespearean wooing can hide it."
Stephen turned sideways, an arm bent at the elbow and propped on the back of the seat. He studied Loki's profile in naked wonderment as he tried to predict Loki's reaction to his next words. "I never did take you on a honeymoon, did I?"
"A honeymoon." On Loki's tongue, the word sounded foreign the way he said it.
"Surely you know what that is?"
For a second there Stephen thought Loki was going to scoff at him for being inane or roll his eyes at his hopeless romanticism, but to his credit, Loki did neither of those things.
Instead, Loki slowly sat down next to him, the cushion dipping slightly as he shifted his weight so he leaned more or less into the Sorcerer Supreme, swinging his long legs off the floor and resting them onto the couch, bent at the knees so they would not hang off the edge.
"Our firstborn son is near five, and now we are expecting our second child. Do be assured that I do not expect to be taken on one at this juncture, Stephen."
Stephen blinked. "I'm fairly sure you meant to comfort me with that caveat in our marriage but it somehow makes my shortcomings as your husband even more glaring."
Loki snorted in distaste. "What's gotten into you lately?"
He straightened up, an indignant look on his face, "Did Thor say something? Did I say something that somehow made you feel inadequate in any way? Because I for one do not remember having done any complaining lately."
"That's the thing. I wish you would," Stephen said lightly, "Complain more, I mean."
"Okay, Strange. I'll bite, as you Midgardians say. For starters, what are we doing on a barge, in the middle of an icy loch of all places?"
"It is not a barge, it is a catamaran. And I would have driven but –" Stephen wriggled his hands, "You were the one who said you wanted to go up into the Scottish Highlands."
"Of course. Which means Munros and Glens and Bens." Loki swiftly got to his feet. "No one said anything about sailing."
"At least I had the good sense to charter a private boat?" Stephen's attempt at endearing Loki to his romantic gestures fell flat on his face as Loki only turned his nose upward with an askance look, before he pushed open the door that led to the bridge.
Stephen followed him toward the bow of the boat. He listed starboard side when it rocked amidst the tail waves of a passing speedboat but Loki remained standing as steady as a pole, his hair gently lifting off his shoulders, his long black coat flapping in the breeze.
Stephen reached up to flip the lapels so they covered the sides of Loki's neck. "Inside is warmer," he groused.
"You know the cold doesn't bother me." Loki lifted his face, basking in the sunlight peeking shyly from behind the clouds. The Scottish sun had always been kind to him, unchanged over the centuries. He murmured, "This is nice."
Stephen slid his hands into Loki's coat pockets. He found Loki's hands and gave them a squeeze. He dug in deeper until he found what he was looking for.
Hugging Loki from behind, he cradled through the inner silk lining of his coat pockets the sides of Loki's baby bump, still largely hidden from view against his tall, thin frame, but very much obvious to the touch if one knew where to look, and no one but Loki knew better than Stephen.
Loki appreciated his discretion and rewarded him by tilting his head to give Stephen a quick peck on the cheek.
"Why here, of all places?" Strange pressed his cheek against the side of Loki's face, watching the waves cut across the clear green waters. "Why this island, specifically?"
"Oh, but this is a place of magic, Stephen." Rarely had he ever seen Loki look as excited, his eyes shining as he spoke, "Old magic."
"As much as I am enjoying escorting you on your pilgrimage, Loki, will you reassure me that we will be back in Asgard by tomorrow?"
Stephen linked his arms across the front of Loki's body, stroking a palm lightly over the soft swell of Loki's stomach. "You are due for a recharge. Stian wouldn't stop bugging me about it. He's obsessed with colouring you right."
"I am well, husband." Loki's fingers lightly grazed the back of Stephen's hand. "I will be well, after today."
Stephen waited patiently for him to explain further. Loki did not, only offering, "Spoilers, darling."
"Cryptic." Stephen snorted, not unfondly.
"The Isle of Skye is perhaps as old as Asgard itself, Stephen." He breathed in deeply. "Not the land, no, but its spirit, its essence. The Macleods of Gesto, the oldest family on this island, traced their descent back unbroken to Harold the Black, the Jarl of Iceland, and it is said, from him, to the great Odin Allfather himself."
Loki looked out into the waters, his eyes sweeping over the rows of mountain looming in front and around them.
"The magic is strong here. Though our worshippers are long gone, for every number of times our names were spoken and our presence summoned, each invocation left a residue that still lingers in the air, the land, the waters – energy that cannot be destroyed." Loki took another deep breath. "Even after centuries."
Stephen released his hold around his husband and leaned against the railing, regarding him in open curiosity, "Scotland used to worship you guys? That's news to me."
"Old news, old darling." Loki pointed a long, tapered finger into the distance. "Beyond that mountain is the township of Kyleakin, or Haco's Strait, where King Haco of Norway anchored with his fleet in the thirteenth century. The Norsemen held parts of the Scottish mainland and the Isles then, but after his last battle ended in defeat, he and what remained of his fleet fled to the Wester Fjord where Haco, ill, old and heartbroken lay abed, awaiting to die."
Loki's voice trailed to a whisper at his last words, and he sounded so forlorn Stephen could not help but pursue it, almost accusingly as if he did not want to believe, but believed nonetheless – "You sound like you knew him, like you were there."
"On his deathbed, he had his chaplain read him old Viking sagas, and he wept as his time drew near and he could not say our names anymore." If Stephen needed any more convincing that Loki was as old as he said he was, the evidence was all in his haunted, green eyes. "Can you imagine that kind of devotion, Strange?"
"I don't need to. I can still see it now." Stephen's nose wrinkled in chagrin. "The Valkyrie? She was practically stomping her feet when you said she could not come with you."
"Yes…but not for the reason you imagined."
"Really? You two are practically joined at the hip now."
"Jealousy ruins your looks, Stephen. Makes you look unhinged."
Loki walked a few steps, his hand dancing lightly along the railing, much like a compass scrying for direction. He stopped short, and pointed in another direction. "Deep inland you would find the Maidens of Loch Bracadale, the three great rocks rising out of the sea so-called for their appearance akin to three mermaids, a mother and her daughters combing their hair…"
Loki's eyes took on a faraway look. "They bore witness to the last time the Valkyries ever appeared to man."
Stephen's interest was piqued even more now.
"Before a battle, it was their custom to weave the web of death, before choosing the best and the bravest of the slain to lead them to the great halls of Valhalla, until Odin shall summon them to his side for the last and greatest battle of all – "
"It was the eve of the Battle of Clontarff in 1014 when a farmer searching for his strayed animal on the cliff top was startled to see his world suddenly darkened…and he looked up to see twelve Valkyries hovering on their wings – they were weaving their dreadful web of death, its loom of lances, and the weights of the loom men's heads."
And suddenly Loki began to sing, his voice clear and crisp.
Horror covers all the heath
Clouds of carnage block the sun;
Sisters, weave the web of death,
Sisters, cease, the work is done
It was a song, short and melancholic, and perfectly sung.
Stephen could not take his eyes off his raven-haired prince, so awed he was for this was a side Loki very seldom showed –
"Once the song ceased, the Valkyries tore the web into two pieces, flying one half to the north, one half to the south. And they were never seen again in Skye."
"Why did they leave?"
"Your scholars blamed the Scottish people's conversion to Christianity." Loki's smile was empty, humorless. "I blame Hela. She did slaughter them."
"Slaughtered them all but one." Loki sighed in what sounded like regret. Then his nose crinkled. "Good thing too, it would have been such a drag trying to find a babysitter for Stian."
"It is a long way up, Loki." Stephen did not even bother hiding his apprehension.
Loki only looked at him coolly. "You were the one who insisted on doing things the Midgardian way. It would be double standard to subject me to a grueling boat ride but deny me an invigorating hike up. You worry too much."
"But that looks very steep."
"I will manage." Just as soon as the skipper steered the boat away out of sight around the bay, Loki's outer long coat disappeared, revealing in its place his usual green and black Asgardian leathers.
"This sacred land will never let me fall."
"What's that even supposed to mean?" Stephen muttered. It was a rhetorical question at best for Loki began to climb, paying him no heed.
It was a steep climb with a snow-topped mountain of about 3500 feet looming over them, beyond which was their destination, the Lake Coruisk. Moss-covered black rocks offered precarious purchase for their feet, yet Loki manoeuvered his way effortlessly up and around the sides of the mountain, his back tall and straight as if he was walking on the level.
It would have been a marvel to watch were Stephen not himself struggling simply to keep up; a few times already he had lingered too long gauging his next step, the next foothold only to find Loki already out of his sight.
"Really – " Stephen huffed, "This is hardly, the most pleasant idea – " and puffed "- of a honeymoon!"
Not surprisingly, Loki heard him, despite being a good fifty yards away, "It's a health and wellness spa more than anything, darling. Do keep up."
"Witch," Stephen muttered under his breath.
"I heard that!"
Oops. He should play the part of a concerned husband, caring for his pregnant spouse, quickly – "At least take The Cloak!"
Loki waved a derisive hand.
Then his steps began to falter, and Loki came to a complete stop within seconds.
Stephen looked up in alarm, but refrained from speaking. The pause in walking pace finally allowed him to catch up and when Stephen drew closer, he was relieved to see no distress on Loki's usually pale face now flushed with bitter cold, and only the tiniest hint of uncertainty.
He slowly turned his head to the right to the shallow pass going around the mountain where in the distance, a shallow stream ran over the tidiest row of stepping stones Stephen had ever seen in the wilderness.
Loki then looked to his left up at the winding, treacherous path around the other side of the mountain.
Both ways led to their destination, yet the latter looked like one only manageable by mountain goats. And Stephen had an uneasy feeling just which of the two Loki would choose –
"This way." Loki began walking to the left.
"Loki…"
"Trust her."
"Who are you talking about – " And Stephen saw her.
A very tall, thin woman stood on a jutting rock formation about twenty feet above them, looking down on them, her long black hair falling to her feet. Had her white, misty robe moved in the icy gale blowing around them Stephen would have thought her human.
"Don't look at the Gruagach too long," Loki murmured. "Just say your thanks, and move."
"Gruagach?"
"Protector spirit of the land, if you prefer."
"Wouldn't crossing the stream be safer?"
"She points me a path, I follow it."
Loki turned his head slightly sideways, his eye softening at the worry in his husband's eyes.
"She will protect me."
The wisps of a whisper blew with the wind, in a language Stephen had never heard before; it was a song, soft, lilting, haunting, sung in a woman's voice long dead and gone.
Loki smiled wistfully in the direction of the rock formation on which the mysterious woman was no longer standing. His lips moved soundlessly, and it was as if the wind carried his words…despite not knowing what it was Loki had said, Stephen knew he was thanking her for granting them safe passage, he could feel it in the subtle shift in the air.
They walked for what must have been an hour, with Loki leading the way, Stephen not more than a step behind. Every so often Loki would stop to rest but for a few seconds, growing noticeably tired but still he persevered.
More than once Stephen offered to teleport them, and just as many times Loki flat-out refused. "We are in the circle now, Stephen. When we are this close, there are no shortcuts."
When Loki was in one of his cryptic moods, it was best to stand back and observe and just be present.
However, as nonparticipatory as he would have liked to be, he could not very well ignore the fact that his husband had been refusing food and drink all day and was now trying to break the world record for the fastest pregnant Norse god to ever climb a mountain.
"Loki, perhaps a drink of water –" he did not get very far for Loki suddenly halted, his hand raised in the air.
"We're here."
Stephen joined him where he stood on a boulder and when he looked down, he instantly found himself at a loss for words.
Loch Coruisk was a lake hidden deep within the Bens, surrounded on all sides by mountains - their majestic silhouettes an ominous black against the blue of the clouds overhead, their mirror images reflected on the clear aquamarine waters in rippling daubs of slate grey, honeycomb yellow and moss green.
It was not only its natural magnificence that rendered Stephen speechless; it was the pull of energy that enveloped the entire area in an almost visible corona of magic.
Ancient magic.
It was unlike any magic he had ever encountered, yet strangely familiar.
Loki was enthralled. His face showed an exhilaration Stephen had not seen in a long time, certainly not since he had been ill.
But Loki was not looking at the lake. His hands felt along the walls of the boulder rock next to him as if looking for something. The moment Stephen saw it with his wary eyes, Loki found it with his hand, and true enough, his palm fit the depression imprinted on the million-years-old volcanic rock perfectly.
The words Loki chanted were in a strange tongue, rough and convoluted yet melodious; despite not knowing the language, the signature of the spell Stephen readily recognised as a summoning one.
The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise, and the air stirred at the sudden presence of another.
"Fáilte gu Loch Coruisk, Loki mo rìgh."
Welcome, Loki my King.
A small, very dark presumably male, dwarf-sized figure suddenly stood in front of them, having appeared out of nowhere.
He was child-sized, but there was nothing childlike about him. Dressed in a faded green tunic that reached his knees and belted at the waist with water reed fibres, he wore a peculiar hat that covered his head fully, leaving one to wonder at the shape of his head and hair.
"That's...an Oompa-Loompa." A murderous-looking, teeth-gnashing Oompa Loompa. On a remote hill, on a remote island, in the remotest part of new Britannia. "Good Lord, they are real."
"For Norns' sake, Stephen," Loki hissed through his gritted teeth. "Give me your sling ring."
"Why?" Stephen asked sharply, his eyes still trained on the small, dark man in front of him. He did not like the idea of battling such a gruesome creature but to protect Loki, he would do anything.
"You can give me your sling ring and stay to watch, or you can keep it and leave," Loki said flatly. A slight pause, "It is made of iron, yes?"
Stephen nodded suspiciously.
"Faeries fear iron, Stephen." Loki held out a palm expectantly. "I will return it to you once we are done here."
Oh. Faeries. Of course.
He could not stop staring as he handed his sling ring to Loki. Why did it not surprise Stephen that they looked nothing like the faeries in children's storybooks? The legends spoke nothing of Loki's stark, savage beauty and yet there he was and not a creature could compare to Loki's exquisite countenance, whatever form he took.
But he digressed. The faerie was visibly relieved now that the sling ring was safely sequestered in one of Loki's magic pockets. The little man spoke furtively in that foreign tongue Stephen had only just realised was Gaelic and Loki answered in rapid succession.
"Stephen."
Stephen finally tore his eyes away from the creature only to realise that Loki had changed out of his Asgardian leathers and into a shapeless shift frock in pure white, hooded and cinched at the waist with a similar-looking ancient rope for a belt.
"If the waters turn green and I do not reappear, do come in after me."
Stephen's eyes narrowed.
"What manner of risks are you putting yourself into now, Loki?"
Loki being Loki, answered not what he did not wish to answer.
"But not before. Never before. I cannot afford to wait for the next turn of the summer solstice to do this again should I fail, we are too close to the autumn equinox as it is."
Stephen felt the first waves of real fear stir in his chest. He reached out to grip Loki's waist. No.
Whatever Loki intended to do, there was no doubt it was dangerous as hell. He could tell by the way Loki was avoiding his eyes.
"Chin up, darling." Loki squeezed his arms. "I need to do this."
The resolution in Loki's eyes dared no contestation. "And I need you to let me do this."
Stephen's hand left Loki's hip to search for his daughter. Despite his twenty weeks into the pregnancy, the robe hid Loki's figure but the thrum of magic stirring underneath his palm as he gently caressed Loki's belly soothed him somewhat. "Be careful, both of you."
Loki threw him one last uneasy smile before turning to follow the mythical gnomelike creature down the rocky slope toward the bank of the placid lake. Stephen followed suit, his uneasiness growing by the second as he watched Loki sink to his knees about ten feet away from where the water lapped gently at the shore.
The faerie waved a hand, drawing figures in the air, and stone-like projections the size of witches' hats erupted from the earth, encircling Loki who had begun tracing runes on the ground with his fingers. Stephen recognised some of the alphabets, and it struck him now why the magic felt so familiar.
It was Celtic magic.
A thrill ran down his spine at the thought of potentially witnessing ancient Druid magic in practice. And all of a sudden he found himself missing her - the Ancient One. But before he could brood further, the sudden rise in atmospheric energy alerted him to the present.
Blue seiðr rolled off Loki in waves, enveloping his white robe in an unearthly luminousity, but despite its beauty, Stephen knew it was an anomaly for the blue was intermingled with a golden yellow, the colour of his own intrinsic magic.
Suddenly Stephen understood why Loki needed to come here.
It was not so much a pilgrimage as a quest for a cure; the temporary cure for his illness was only permanent so long as Stephen and Stian were around to regenerate his seiðr, but it did not change the fact that it was borrowed seiðr.
And Loki could not abide it.
Having duly completed his task, the faerie gave Loki a satisfied look and bowed before him reverently before tipping his hat at Stephen and smirking a grotesque smile before he shimmered out of existence in the blink of an eye.
His eyes closed, with a face as pale as the robe he wore, Loki placed both hands on the ground and the runes he had traced on the sand took on a luminous green glow, much like the colour of Loki's own seiðr. He chanted words to an ancient spell in an ancient tongue, his voice low and barely audible.
When he opened his eyes again, they were not his own. Golden and iridescent, they stared ahead out over the loch.
Loki slowly rose to stand. He stepped out of the circle of stones, his feet white and bare, and much like a sleepwalker, walked straight into the ice-cold water, his white robe billowing around him.
Stephen fought the urge to leap in after him and pull him back, but the sorcerer in him knew he should not and could not intervene. The spirits of the earth currently inhabiting Loki's body and lending him the strength he needed to overcome the upcoming trial would not appreciate such interruptions.
He trusted Loki, and now was the time to show it.
So, the Sorcerer Supreme stood at the edge of the water and waited. He watched as Loki's head completely disappeared under the water, the blue and yellow seiðr swirling in a dizzying whirlpool of energy trailing from where Loki entered the water to his last sighted position before he was swallowed into the fathomless depth of the loch.
A minute passed. And another. Then another.
True fear started to grip Stephen's chest like a vise.
How long could Loki hold his breath under water? Stephen's heart pounded madly against his ribcage. He started to take his clothes off with hands that shook more than usual.
How long did the Mad Titan take to strangle Loki till he suffocated the last time?
Humans had five minutes tops before irreversible brain damage set in.
And the waters were still fricking yellow.
Fuck, Loki.
Stephen sneaked a glance at the runes on the ground; they were still glowing, green and ominous, but were they fainter now? Some of the runes already had the fires burned out of them altogether.
When Stephen turned around to look out into the water again, his heart leapt to his throat –
He lunged into the freezing water and threw himself into the swirling vortex of green seiðr, desperately groping the water, scouring its bottom, and he stopped short as his feet came into contact with something.
Stephen took a deep breath and dived into the water. Within seconds, he had Loki all long-limbed, lifeless and dangling in his arms, and out of the lake.
He laid his husband on the shore and slammed his hands on the sand, raising his Mirror Dimension and shielding them both from view; they may appear to be alone but he knew better than to believe the outer appearance of things; who knew what sort of faeries or sprites or other beings there were out here.
"Loki!" Stephen knew he was shouting but he did not care. Loki's lips were blue and no breath stirred his chest. He was as still as marble.
No.
On autopilot, Stephen sealed his mouth over the ice-cold lips and began blowing breath after forceful breath, alternating with chest compressions reinforced with all the spells he knew that could potentially help bring him back. "Come on, Loki."
He was about to commence the third cycle of CPR when suddenly Loki bucked violently off the ground, and Stephen hurriedly wrestled him onto his left side just in time before he brought up great gouts of lake water, breathing harshly as his thin frame shuddered in as much exertion as the bitter cold.
Stephen ripped the soggy robes off Loki's body and conjured thick, heavy blankets which he then used to smother his husband's shivering frame and dry his scraggly wet hair. He could hear Loki's teeth chatter against each other.
"S-Stephen." Loki coughed again, bringing up the last of the fluids from his lungs. Stephen laid a hand on his back and let healing spell after healing spell warm his insides, chasing away the lasting effects of near-drowning and prolonged exposure to below-freezing temperatures. It was when at last he stripped himself of his own wet clothes and they huddled in the blankets together that Loki finally stopped shaking.
"Alright now?" Stephen asked a little anxiously still.
"I'm alright, Stephen." Fully alert now, Loki pressed the side of his face onto Stephen's bare chest, revelling in his warmth and the strength of his reassuring heartbeat.
Loki raised his hand and called upon his seiðr. Green sparked from the ends of his long fingers and he watched, fascinated by the return of his magic after so long. His other hand flew to his belly somewhat fearfully; his daughter stirred inside him in direct response to his inquiring nudges and he sighed in great relief, "I am more than alright."
"I can't believe you," Stephen seethed. "How could you do this to me again?"
"I'm sorry, Strange, but I had to." Loki closed his eyes. He knew Stephen was angry, he could feel it rumbling in his voice, reverberating in his chest. "As our daughter grows, the borrowed powers could only sustain me for so long –"
"But you need only to take from me!' Stephen berated. "You need not even ask, just take it!"
"And I am telling you, I can't," Loki said through gritted teeth. "Not without draining you and Stian. You have no idea how much I need, Sorcerer."
"I can't do that to you. I can't do that to our son." He closed his eyes again. "But it's over now. It's finally over."
"What is different now?" Stephen asked, still not understanding.
"To put it in terms you may better understand, Doctor, what you have kindly been giving me were transfusions, to take the edge off and keep death at bay." Loki frowned at the memory. "What I needed to stay alive were stem cells, if you like. To reawaken my seiðr, I needed to come to a place where magic was strongest, if it was mine harvested a long time ago like I had done here, then all the better."
"Your magic?" Stephen was remembering the handprint, the ancient Celtic magic, and why Loki had insisted to come only on this day and not on any other day…the summer solstice and autumn equinox, the freaky faerie dwarf calling him his King –
The Lughnasadh. Of course.
"You are Lugh, the Celtic God," Stephen said flatly. "The God of Craftsman Skills and Arts, Harvest, Oaths and Truth."
"Was that what I was called?" Loki's forehead wrinkled slightly. "It was so long ago, I tend to forget. Too many past lives, you see."
Stephen was at a loss; should he laugh? Shout or cry? All of the above, maybe?
"You knew." If earthbound magic was what Loki needed, New Asgard had plenty. "You could have done this back in Norway. You could have healed yourself."
Loki did not answer.
"You knew, and you did not tell me." Stephen's voice was raw with emotions. "Why?"
It was a long time before Loki spoke again, his voice soft yet firm. "I was dying, Stephen."
"The sheer amount of seidr I needed to heal would have turned Asgard barren and infertile. No vegetation would grow, no livestock could ever be reared without sickening, even the water itself would be rendered undrinkable." His head lifted, chin strong and unwavering in his conviction.
"I will never do that to Asgard." His steely green eyes met Stephen's stormy grey ones head-on. "Never."
Stephen's throat dried up in an instant. His hold around Loki wavered slightly.
He looked down at the protective blanket covering the telltale convexity of Loki's belly as it curved gracefully outward from below his navel.
He cradled the side of Loki's stomach with one hand gently. Calling out Loki's concealment of a lie-truth shamed him to the core; his own confession was long overdue.
"I almost killed our daughter." For you.
"I know," Loki said quietly.
Stephen's eyes smarted. He recognised a truth when he heard it, and Loki was not lying.
Of course Loki knew. He always did.
Despite the turbulent emotions roiling in his gut, he tightened his hold around Loki, for Loki was his anchor, his unbending tether. But one thing Loki was very good at, was reading people. "You are angry."
Stephen was quiet for a while.
"At myself, more than anything." He gazed down, searching Loki's face openly. "Why aren't you?"
Loki slowly released himself from Stephen's embrace, his lips pursed in thought as he weighed in his next words. "I was in your position once, remember?"
The blanket still around his shoulders, Loki crouched in front of Stephen, straddling his thighs, slim pale hands braced on Stephen's hips. "I had to choose between saving you, and saving our son."
Loki leaned in closer. "Did you get angry with me then?"
"No. I didn't." Stephen's eyes softened at the memory.
"And what did you do instead?" Loki wrapped his arms around Stephen's neck. The blanket fell away, revealing his porcelain-white shoulders and torso. Desire and lust stirred deep in Stephen's gut.
"I asked you to marry me." Stephen could not stop staring at Loki's lips.
Upon seeing the line of his husband's gaze, Loki relented, and leaned forward, initiating the kiss he knew Stephen wanted.
"I love you, you know," Stephen breathed out in between kisses. In the majestic background of the highland wilderness he was falling in love with this fantastic creature, this heavensent angel all over again –
"I know," Loki murmured, catching Stephen's lower lip, biting it lightly, coaxing him to kiss him harder -
Stephen groaned and pressed their foreheads together when they finally broke free.
He closed his eyes, savouring the moment. "I really do love you."
"And I, you, Doctor."