Dr. Banner gifted me a set of gadgets. Tucked inside my coat pocket was an upgrader taser, capable of taking down a super soldier, a button that would alert all possible S.H.I.E.L.D. agents of any threat and Loki's last location, and a small canister of mace that fit conveniently on my keychain. It was S.H.I.E.L.D. standard blue and had enough spice to blind a man for several hours. I sort of felt like a spy on a mission.

"I hope you realize the responsibility you're taking on," Dr. Banner said. I looked at him with confusion. "You're volunteering to take the current most dangerous man on the planet for a walk."

"I know," I muttered solemnly. In my heart of hearts I wanted to brush off his concern as ignorant fear, but logically, I knew it was coming from experience. He had every right to worry. He had every right to be scared. So why wasn't I? Was I blinded by my own attraction or did I truly have a connection with Loki that no one else had?

I swallowed my doubt and left Dr. Banner's lab. Loki was waiting for me in the lobby, surrounded by armed agents as Agent Hanna gave him a list of rules and vague threats. I was stunned when I saw him. They'd replaced his Asgardian leather and green cape for civilian clothes. His hair was neatly brushed, pulled into a half-up, half-down style. His straight raven locks draped just beyond his shoulders, which were covered in a sophisticated, double-breasted wool coat. He wore black slacks with shiny black leather shoes to complete the look. The dark clothes made his skin look like marble.

As I approached, Agent Hanna turned on her heels, and faced me with aggressive eyes and a severe expression. "Don't let him out of your sight," she commanded.

"Yes, Ma'am," I gulped.

"I mean it, Bright. A lot of people are counting on you to not hand the world over to a sadist. Don't let us down."

She gestured for the other agents to take their leave. Loki and I were alone in the lobby.

"I don't like the way she speaks to you," Loki exclaimed.

"Yeah, but she's the boss. She's under a lot of pressure and I don't think I'm helping too much," I replied. I buttoned up my coat and slipped on a pair of fur-lined leather gloves. "Where would you like to go?" I asked.

Loki looked at me with a puzzled face. "I don't know the first thing about this city."

"Right," I tsk'd. "Follow me, I guess."

Loki walked next to me as we exited Avenger's tower and wondered into the bustling city street. Cold wind nipped at my cheeks. Winter was closing in, but autumn still lingered. It was nice to take in the crisp air. Though, I could never get over the stank of city life. The streets were littered with garbage and the sidewalks were littered with people. Everyone was either in a rush to get somewhere or a tourist too slow to realize they were in your way. It was the worst part of the city.

He walked with grace and confidence. Each long stride had purpose. People who noticed Loki instinctively moved to avoid him. It was like they knew he was royalty and didn't want to offend him. If they recognized his face, I'd feel their fear. Thankfully, that didn't happen.

I trailed behind him, getting bumped and shoved by strangers. Imbued with mid-western politeness, I naturally apologized and said sorry far too many times. Loki peered behind him, noticing my lack of prescience and stopped. As I approached him, he gripped my gloved hand in his and gently pulled me closer.

"Keep up, bunny," he instructed in a husky tone.

Heat flashed under my skin. My cheeks brightened to a rosy tone was our fingers intertwined. Without the looming gaze of cameras, I was able to breathe easy and enjoy this moment. I let myself get close to him. So long as our skin didn't touch, it would be okay. The outside of his jacket was coarse and scratchy wool, but I still rest my head against his arm.

"Is this okay?" I asked in a nervous and weak voice.

He squeeze my hand and pulled me closer. Our bodies closing the remaining gap. "Of course."

There was warmth that emanated from him. The same passionate heat from this morning. The open air made it less dense, but it was still noticeable. It seeped into my skin, combating the frigid air. Was it wrong to stay like this? His fever plucked a sensitive string deep in my stomach. I felt my thighs twitch suddenly. As soon as it arrived, it dissipated, but only for a moment. As we walked, the feeling would come in waves. I rode the ebb and flow of subtle lust, fighting any significant urge with deep, yet troubled breaths. Occasionally they would exhale as soft moans. I buried those into the fabric of his jacket. I could feel his enjoyment every time it happened.

I led him to a small corner café about two blocks east from Avenger's tower. We parted ways as we entered the threshold. Immediately I was hit with crisp cold air.

The cafe sat twelve people total. Five stools lined the bar, three booths sat against the frosted windows, each seating two people, and a single square table with one chair near the front door. Each seat was empty. The only other visible soul was a young waitress, flipping through a large textbook, and jotting things down in a spiral ring notebook. A chalkboard menu hug above the kitchen's lookout.

We sat down at one of the cherry red booths. I passed Loki a laminated menu. "Get whatever you like. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s paying."

He starred at the stiff shiny paper quizzically. His eyes scanning the breakfast options and then around the small room. Black and white pictures of days past were nailed to every inch of the white and red walls. He glanced at the chalkboard and the waitress then shrugged and sighed.

"Do they not have places like this on Asgard?" I joked knowing the answer.

"We have establishments, but nothing quite like this," he answered calmly, flipping the menu front back to front.

"What kind of 'establishments' do you have then?"

"You know, a tavern here, a pub there," he brushed off.

I plucked the menu from his hands and set it on the table. "I saw the way you looked at that picture of Asgard. Tell me about your favorite place and I'll take the burden of choosing breakfast off your shoulders."

Loki's tense demeanor shifted to calm. He sighed and gazed out the window. People passed by in a dizzying haze. "There was a place we liked to go when an exceedingly tedious battle was won. The grand hall of Valaskjalf was reserved for heroic feats. When armies were vanquished. We'd eat off guilted plates and jewel incrusted chalices," his said as his lapis eyes shimmered in remembrance. "For little battles, skirmishes really, we'd take ourselves to this tavern in the heart of Asgard. Bigger than this place by miles, but, still small somehow. It was owned by this small man with a twin braided beard named Skapti. He was louder than Thor some nights. What he lacked in size, he made up for in personality."

I rested my head in my hands and listened intently as Loki spoke of home. My chest fluttered happily with every word that rolled off his elegant tongue. I watched as his face brightened with every memory that resurfaced. He didn't even notice the waitress stop by our table. He didn't listen as I told her our orders. He just continued on, regaling over long drunken nights with friends and his brother.

"The entire place was made out of wood, like Skapti had carved it by hand out of the world's largest tree. He's serve us barrels of rich mead and platters of exquisite meat. Thor always invited him to celebrate with us. Somehow the man kept up with us, even besting Thor some nights. I never learned the tavern's name, but I remember Skapti," he finished with a longing sigh.

"That was really beautiful, thank you."

Loki peered around the café, suddenly falling back into reality. Our food had arrived. A cup of warm caramel coffee sat in a beige mug. Three tiers of pancakes lazily stacked on a matching plate with a mountain of whipped cream and assorted berries sprinkled in. He smiled.

The air was warm. Not heavy or overwhelming. Light and warm. Every-so-often a surge of elusive desire would pass over me. Usually when things were quiet and Loki had a moment alone with his thought. He'd stare me intently. His eyes would pass over my frame and it would hit me.

It was difficult to refrain from touching him. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his well toned forearm. There was something inherently sexy about it. I wanted to run my fingers along the stiff muscle that bulged whenever he'd flex his hands. More than anything, I wanted to lean over and kiss him.

He must have noticed me staring at him because he smirked at me. He fidgeted with the lithe silver chord adorning his wrist. I pulled back my gaze and decided to watch strangers jet past the window.

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Loki urged. I casted a look his way and then back to the window. "I can't read minds or whatever it is you do."

"It's embarrassing," I replied.

"It's only us here."

The waitress was behind the counter, fixated on her textbook, with headphones lodged into her ears. She hadn't bothered us in a while and wasn't planning on it any time soon.

I let out a hefty sigh as I gathered my thoughts. They were all the same, just more intense than the last. Real physical touch and the fear behind the consequences. It was easy to admit in a dream, but reality was scarier. Still, I held onto a waning bought of confidence and told him.

"I keep coming back to last night and how that made me feel," I professed quietly while facing the window. My cheeks were red. I could feel the slow creeping heat build in my face. If he could sense my anxiety, would he leave it at that?

"How did it make you feel?" Loki asked as he swirled the remains of his coffee in his mug. His gaze was dark and knowing. He knew the answer, but he liked hearing me say it.

"Good," I exhaled. "I keep wanting to..."

I crept my fingers closer to him, but not close enough for contact. I recoiled before my skin could brush his. He didn't flinch. He just watched. His muscles flexed as he clenched his hand into a tight fist. Secretly, he wanted me to.

"Tell me, bunny, what is it that you want?" Loki asked in a low husky voice.

I closed my eyes and let time slow to a crawl. Whether it was his desire or mine, it didn't matter, I felt the dull ache of lust turn my stomach into knots. My pulse quickened as I replayed his question in my head. His voice was like a spell.

"You," passed through my lips in a hushed moan.

I felt the smile in his voice as he purred, "Good girl."