Sitting in the well-manicured gardens belonging to her grandmother far south of the city of Asgard, Aemilia watched as a butterfly fluttered near her knee. The moonlight was bright and full tonight, and as she focused on the little insect's wings, she saw flashes of black and gold throughout them as they propelled its small body through the air. It reminded her of a certain fly and a certain owl that had once shadowed her, a few months ago, and she squinted slightly, trying to find a trace of green among the colors.
If she looked hard enough, she thought, maybe she'd see it. And if she saw it, maybe it meant that he was here, despite how she had forbidden it, and the threat of a thrill surfaced just before it was squashed.
"You look ravishing tonight, my lady."
As if spooked by Dagr's voice, the butterfly hurriedly flew away, flashing a bright bit orange amongst its black and gold wings as it did. The colors were just as wrong as her companion was.
It wasn't the poor dolt's fault, not really. In fact, had she been the typical Asgardian maiden, she was quite sure that she would have been quite pleased with her intended. A palace guard with all of the looks and the strength ideal of an Aesir man, a good family and good money - what more could she ask for?
But, as fate would have it, she was regretfully atypical, and Dagr was simply wrong for her, in every way. He had been pleasant enough over the last week, and her immediate as well as extended family was quite taken with him, but this made no difference to her. Their conversations were still awkward, nothing about him put her at ease, and every time he touched her - nothing above the brush of his hand on hers or a friendly embrace now and again - she felt nearly as if she were betraying her true lover. It made no sense and she full well knew it - after all, shouldn't she feel guilty for barely participating in this courtship while repeatedly allowing herself to be bedded by a Prince?
Yet even now, as she looked into Dagr's eyes as he sat next to her on this lovely night, she could only wonder what it would be like if it were Loki in his place. She would look up and see a cocky smirk instead of a nervous smile, raven-hued hair instead of sandy blonde, mischievous green eyes rather than standardly pleasant blue. They may or may not converse - if they did, it would be easy, without a trace of awkwardness, far more comfortable than it should be. If they did not, it would surely be a matter of minutes until one of them ended up on their knees in front of the other, and with the way the week had gone so far, she figured it would probably be her.
Unknowingly she bit her lip as the passing thought faded, then froze in mild horror as she hoped he didn't think she'd done it in response to his compliment.
"May I be candid?" he then said suddenly, looking uneasy as he did.
"Yes, of course," she replied quickly.
"Have I... behaved in a manner that displeases you? Offended you? Caused you discomfort in my presence?"
"No," she answered, somewhat honestly. To be truthful, he had yet to do anything she found to be truly vile or repulsive - she just rarely thought anything of him at all. He was nearly a non-entity in her mind, albeit a persistent one. "Of course not - why do you ask?"
"My lady, I am no scholar, but I am also no fool," he said, somewhat somberly. "I know that you do not like me. You shrink from me, you try your hardest to keep away from me, and you no doubt wish that I had not come here to support your family in their time of mourning. What I do not know is why."
She stared at him, words failing her as a slight sense of guilt poked from within. He looked like a wounded pup, confused and just a bit stupid as he awaited an answer.
"Do you desire another?"
Loki was right about one thing - she was not a good liar, and she never had been. Her silence was all the answer he needed.
"I understand. I do," he said as she looked away, towards her feet, anywhere but him. "And I am sorry. But whomever he may be, this man who you wish was in my place... clearly he has no intention of giving you what you wish, otherwise I would be dueling him for your hand."
"But -"
"Please, let me speak," Dagr said, and Aemilia snapped her mouth shut and complied. "My lady, I am here. I am fighting for your attention. I am offering you all I have, all that I shall ever have, because you... bewilder me. You make me feel like a bumbling, idiotic little child with all the charm of dying bilgesnipe, and yet, it only makes me desire you more. I wish only to have the chance to prove to you that this is no mere arranged marriage for me. If given the chance, I shall love you wholly and faithfully until my dying breath."
She stared at him blankly, suppressing her urge to ask him exactly how he could feel so strongly about her when he did not really know her. But did she know Loki any better? Perhaps not, and that didn't stop her from feeling as she did for him.
"Am I so disagreeable in your eyes, my lady?" Dagr asked in a soft voice. "Or am I simply not... this other man that you desire? Is that my only fault?"
She sighed, having run out of time to remain silent. She began with a lie. "There is no other man, Dagr. And there are many reasons why I am wary."
"Please, tell me," he said, relieved that she was at least speaking now.
"I am not ready to give up my life, my freedom," she said, looking up in his eyes and willing him to understand. "As soon as we are married I will be expected to give up who I am to serve you, and children when they come. You may as well take the very breath from my lungs and lock it out of my reach to take the theater away from me. My mother adores society, adores being a noble and throwing grand parties and spreading gossip and everything else frivolous - I do not. And yet I will become her clone once the deed is done."
"If that is not what you want, then I will not force it upon you," Dagr said, and for one foolish moment, she thought he meant he referred to their entire engagement. She should be so lucky. "You can keep singing. I don't want to make you unhappy. Children can be delayed, we needn't rush."
"You say that you won't force anything on me but the very nature of this courtship is one of force," Aemilia said. "If it were entirely up to me, I would not marry anyone. So if you truly wish to have a chance at winning my affection, stop courting me and leave me be. Perhaps then I would believe your words to be genuine."
Dagr looked away, frustrated. She didn't blame him, since after all, he was only a product of his environment. She wondered why it couldn't be so simple for her, being a product of the same environment. She couldn't think of a single thing that had ever happened to shape her into such an apparently unconventional citizen. Maybe she had just been born strange.
"You will see, when we are married," he said eventually, getting to his feet as she watched him stand. "I will let you do as you please. Your happiness will be my priority. I will not shackle you to society. Nothing will change your day to day life as it is now. And when you see this, when you see how truly I mean every word that I am saying - perhaps then, I shall win your heart."
She stared bleakly after him as he walked away, leaving those words to linger over her head like a boulder hanging by a thread, ready to snap at any moment and crush whatever semblance of a future she had. He had missed the point entirely - she didn't want to be allowed to continue to sing, allowed to pursue her interests. More than three centuries of being ordered about by her mother had been quite enough, so was it truly so much to ask for to not spend the rest of her life being allowed by a husband?
But he did not get it, and nothing was going to change. He would be proposing soon, she knew, and then it would all be over. What could she do?
She tried imagine what married life would be like, if Dagr kept to his word. Objectively speaking, it wouldn't be the worst fate imaginable, not by a longshot. He didn't seem to be cruel, and she doubted that he was abusive. He was a bit dim, yes, but that was not rare among young Asgardian males. He was not physically revolting. His offer of allowing her to pursue her interests as she saw fit without his interference was one that she knew she wouldn't find elsewhere, especially when it came to delaying children. So why did she feel as if marrying him would be barely preferable to death?
He's not Loki.
The truth settled over her heart as if the imaginary boulder above her head had snapped and fallen deep into her chest. The thought of ever touching anyone else, of having a child by someone else, was repugnant, unthinkable. Spending the last seven days away from him had been hard enough, much harder than she ever would have dreamed, and there were several truths that her eyes had been irrevocably opened to in his absence.
The first was that she felt far too much for the Prince. It was not a purely physical longing that she felt, though that was a significant part of it. What she missed most was his presence, the way that they could speak or not speak and feel just as comfortable either way. She missed how she felt around him, like she'd found a kindred spirit, someone else who didn't fit into the mold that had been created for them. She missed his touch as much as she missed him, and when she tried to pinpoint at what time she had begun to feel such things, she found that she simply couldn't tell.
But that led to her next realization, a much more sobering one - her feelings did not make one inkling of difference. She knew that Loki would do nothing to spare her fate, whether or not he had confused and conflicted emotions of his own (and he seemed to). She didn't know what he wanted or why he acted as he did. She wondered if he would continue to come to her once she was engaged, or even when she was married. She wondered if she'd have the strength to resist him and retain what morality of hers was still intact. But maybe he wouldn't want her anymore once she was forced to be with another. Maybe it would be the thing to make him lose interest, and maybe he knew this, and that was why he wasn't lifting a finger to stop the impending engagement. Then, as he moved on and found some other poor soul to torment, she would be trapped in a long life utterly devoid of passion, every bit as ruined as he had intended her to be.
It was possible. But her instinct told her differently.
Either way, it hardly mattered. Aemilia turned her gaze to the ground and noticed a few fallen flower petals amid the grass near her feet, and she looked around to ensure that she was completely alone before attempting to levitate the petals. She had already read a quarter of Loki's magic book, and she practiced what she read every time she found herself alone.
All she had to do was imagine that wonderful, soothingly drumming magical energy within slipping from her fingertips, extending outside of herself far enough to brush against the petals, then lift them up into the air like an invisible extension of her hand. They moved up and down as she twitched her fingers, and though it was the most basic of magic, it was enough to bring a smile to her so-often frowning lips.
She then stilled her fingers, concentrating a bit harder, and then watched as the petals began to smoke before dissolving to falling ash. Loki had taught her many things, one of the chief things among them being just how beautiful it could be to watch something be destroyed.
He couldn't sleep. No matter what he did, he simply could not sleep. He blamed the ridiculous girl whose vacant bedroom he was currently snooping through.
The house was empty but for a handful of servants, and it was not the first time this week that he had come here in the dead of night. He hadn't known what he was looking for the first time any more than he did this time. What he did know was that it had been seven long, sleepless nights without the touch of his lover, and his chances of coming to a definite conclusion regarding her seemed more likely when he was lurking in her chambers.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about her room - it was clean and well-organized, suitably large, boring at first glance. However, as he ran his hand along the surface of everything - dark wooden dresser, desk at her window, nightstand at her bed, all the walls in between - he found something he hadn't noticed the other times he'd ended up here this week.
Surprisingly, there was what appeared to be a secret compartment in one of her desk drawers. Under a mass of papers scribbled with her handwriting and some accompanying books, a single loose sheet of paper stuck out from a wood panel that appeared to simply be the bottom of the drawer. But, the removal of the other papers and books revealed a small lock, and Loki smirked as he touched the lock and rendered it useless with his magic. Then he pried the panel up, revealing the things Aemilia apparently went to great lengths to ensure were kept secret.
The first thing that he noticed was the golden rose he'd given her after the opera, lying on some more loose papers and appearing every bit as perfect as the day he'd given it to her. He ran one fingertip down the stem, unable to remember the last woman he'd given a flower. Now that he considered it, she might have been the only woman he'd ever given one to.
Interesting.
Next to the rose lay a smooth, small, white rock. It took him a moment before he recognized it as one from the hot spring. He moved the items around and picked up the papers, then found even more.
The hair clip that she'd left with him the night they met and he'd returned a week later. A handkerchief he'd given her that night her mother's drunken ravings had left her in tears, his initials embroidered on the golden trimmings of the white cloth. He looked at the array of apparent mementos in mild confusion before he began examining the papers. What he found there made him feel... odd.
They were drawings. Most were innocuous things, like birds or flowers or other parts of nature. He wondered why she'd bother hiding them until he happened across a sketch of himself amongst the others.
The likeness was good, quite good. Her pencil had captured all of the fine details of his face, down to each little wrinkle that would appear at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. He was grinning in her interpretation, mischief visible in his expression as he looked off in the distance at something, and he chuckled lightly at the appropriateness before looking through the rest of the pages.
He found a few more sketches. One was of himself and Thor, the latter grinning as he spoke into Loki's ear, making the younger brother laugh. He wondered when she would have been inspired to draw such a thing, then realized it had probably been the banquet. He also wondered when she had the time to draw such detailed, surprisingly skillful pictures.
The last one that he found bearing his visage might have made a lesser man blush. Unfinished, it was of him lying on his back, eyes closed, hair sticking to his temples, and she had only managed to draw his head, upper torso and half his arms, but enough space was left on the page to suggest that she intended to draw his entire sunbathing form. He wondered if she had left the drawing unfinished due to time restrictions - she had departed for her grandmother's the very next day following this depicted event - or if she had simply found herself unable to draw him in all of his... entirety.
Aside from the massive boost to his ego that came with the knowledge that this girl was so taken with him that she drew him from memory when she was alone, he looked at the other items she'd kept from their encounters and felt a strange sense of sadness nag at the edge of his mind. There seemed to be a specific purpose to her hoarding of these objects, something beyond simple sentimentality. Like she wanted something with which to remember him, and their affair, when it was all over. Perhaps something to prove that it had been real and not an elaborate, long-gone dream.
This was where guilt came in. He had known from the outset that she would eventually develop feelings beyond those of the solely physical nature. He just hadn't known if those feelings would be of revulsion or affection. He'd been expecting the former and had been shocked by the emergence of the latter.
His ruin of her had been a bit... too effective. And its consequences far too mutual.
The simple fact that he was standing here, in her empty bedroom, looking through her most private things and closing his eyes whenever her lingering scent would waft into his nose, was disturbing enough without the added, bizarre guilt that he now felt. The bewildering little creature made him feel too much, quite simply, and he couldn't decide if he wanted to demand her hand in marriage as soon as she returned from her trip or ignore her until his dying day.
Naturally, he knew he'd do neither. She would come back, and he would spend hours letting her know how much he'd missed her without speaking a word. Well, there would be some words - he was well aware of his inability to shut up when his creative words would illicit such delicious blushes and borderline animal noises from the girl, but that was beside the point. In fact, he had been toying with the idea of seeing just how much words alone could do to her, how completely desperate she would become if he refused to touch her but filled her ears with unspeakable things until she begged for something, anything, to end her torment.
But, he digressed.
He kept the first sketch out, then replaced the others back into her clever little locked compartment, careful not to disturb the rose as he did. He had his own little collection of items from their couplings, though he preferred to think of them as trophies rather than the sentimental relics hers seemed to be, and this sketch would fit in nicely. It was certainly quite novel.
Once everything was back as it was, he returned to his own chambers and tossed the sketch on top of his desk before looking around his room in disdain. He had been spending an inordinate amount of time here and was quite sick of it, especially these sleepless nights. In fact, the last time he had been this sleepless had been... when, exactly?
Alfheim, he suddenly remembered. Which was the last time he and Aemilia had been separated for a number of days.
Preposterous. She didn't even sleep in his bed, so clearly her absence wasn't the thing to blame. No, it was just his natural restlessness being particularly excessive. He'd always been late to bed and early to rise, requiring much less slumber than, say, his brother. The difference this week was that the lack of sleep was actually bothering him in the daytime.
As a last resort, he could always drink himself into a brief coma, but he wasn't quite that desperate yet. Instead, he'd keep trying the old fashioned way, falling into bed and staring at the ceiling until sleep hopefully overtook him.
But, as was becoming the habit, sleep did not come. He started casting random spells at the ceiling, bewitching it to look like a starry night sky, then changing it to a raging lightning storm on a whim, then toning it down to a simple rainstorm when that reminded him too much of Thor. But the sound of imaginary falling rain wasn't particularly soothing, so he let the illusion fade and watched his ceiling return to normal.
On another whim, he blinked and filled the room with doubles of himself, all looking equally bored and displeased as he did right now. There was even three other Lokis in his bed, all laying there as he was, softly glaring at the ceiling as it it were the building's fault that he couldn't sleep.
He blinked again, and all the doubles turned into Thor, minus the ones on the bed, and he considered using them as target practice for an hour or two. But Thor hadn't done anything to particularly anger or annoy him lately, so there wasn't a lot of appeal in that idea. With a sigh, he blinked again, and then his room was filled with a hundred Heimdalls.
He considered having all of the illusions do degrading and hilariously depraved things with one another, wondering if he'd finally elicit a reaction from the painfully stoic gatekeeper when the real one would inevitably turn his eye on the scene, but that would require Loki watching as well and even he didn't have the stomach for that.
He blinked again, and this time all of the doubles disappeared entirely. This boredom was going to kill him. If only his lover's third cousin or great-uncle, whatever it had been, had picked a different month to die, he wouldn't be bored right now. He would be quite occupied, rather enjoying himself, and he'd be listening to her breathy moans rather than the sound of his own irritated breathing.
Breathy moans, or hoarse screams. Either would do. She had sounded positively divine screaming his name in the hot spring.
Suddenly he heard a low little purr of a giggle, and he opened his briefly closed eyes to find her hovering over him. No, not her - a projection of her that he hadn't meant to cast. She was on top of him, hands planted on his pillow, an amused smirk on her pretty face as she looked down at him, dark hair falling around her face in a curtain. It should have tickled his cheeks, but she wasn't solid, only visual, and yet he suddenly felt his heartbeat quickening.
"Look at you," she lightly sneered, running an illusionary fingertip along his lips. "Does one week without my company wound you so?"
His own words, thrown back at him by his own consciousness, represented by the lover he didn't want to need. Wonderful.
"Do endeavor to survive until we are reunited."
That one made him smirk. He reached his hand towards her face, then, utilizing the newest trick his mother had taught him, willed the projection into solidity. He touched her cheek, feeling the soft skin he'd committed so thoroughly to memory that his mind had recreated it perfectly.
She kissed his thumb as it trailed down to her chin, and briefly he wondered how far he was willing to take this. In all truth, the concept was nothing more than fantasy and self-pleasure, but he felt a bit strange about physically bedding his lover's image. But, it would surely help him find sleep after, and it was a far preferable alternative to his hand, albeit a surreal one.
He sat up and she clutched his shoulders, settling into his lap as he ran his eyes over her. She was covered in only a short little emerald-green slip, and when he raised his eyes back to hers, he found her looking at him expectantly.
"Tell me what you want," she said, her hands warm on his bare shoulders.
He stared at her for a moment, considering those words. The ones that left his lips surprised even him. "Kiss me."
"Hard? Or slowly?"
Being that she was just an extension of his own mind, the questions were irrelevant. She already knew what he wanted, by definition. He was, essentially, taunting himself, forcing him to speak the answer that he was slightly ashamed of.
He spoke barely above a whisper. "Slowly."
She complied, and he closed his eyes as her familiar kiss washed over him. Fingers twisted into his hair and his arm slid around her waist, pulling her close, and though the kiss began slow and sweet, it quickly grew desperate.
It was easy to get lost in the fantasy, to so nearly forget that it was all a trick of his own mind, especially when every touch was so beautifully real. He wondered why he hadn't done this a week ago and saved himself seven days of frustration.
Breathless and lost in the memory of her mouth, Loki pulled away for only a second to catch his breath, and in that moment, she groaned his name. It sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted her to say it again, so she did, under the command of his mind. He kissed her again, and his thoughts began to wander under the staggering realization that she would quite literally do absolutely anything he wanted of her.
The problem with tangling with a physical extension of one's own mind, however, was that there was no restraint or censorship possible. As soon as a wish materialized in his mind, she fulfilled it. This was a good thing when he wanted her nails to scrap down back or her tongue to flick across the pulse in his neck, but not so much a good thing when he made the mistake of recalling something he'd found himself wishing for when she'd sang to him in bed a week ago.
It had been quickly cast aside and ignored then, and he had done very well not making the mistake of thinking on it again. Not until he heard her voice whimpering his name now between kisses, her need for him so clear in her tone, did he allow the thought to escape once more.
What would she sound like if she told him...
"I love you."
It was no more than a whisper, breathed harshly and yet also softly against his lips, and he jerked away as if she'd burned him.
He stared at her, breathing though his mouth, wanting - needing - to hear the words again.
She smiled, and it was tender and sincere. "I love you, Loki. You know that I do."
He continued to stare with wide eyes, suspended somewhere between a need he didn't want and a growing sense of horror. Then he set his jaw, allowed his eyes to return to their normal size, and muttered, "Leave."
She disappeared instantly. He stared down at his lap, where the projection had been.
So this what he had been reduced to, conjuring doubles of his lover and having it proclaim her imaginary love for him in the late hours of a sleepless night.
"Sentimental fool," he heard his own voice mutter behind his back. He glanced behind him and glared at yet another unintentionally cast double, this time one of himself, lounging against his headboard and inspecting his nails as if exceedingly bored.
It was all a side effect of not sleeping, he reasoned. When he didn't sleep, he didn't control his magic as well, thus the rogue projections. The rest he could blame on a moment of idiocy.
Perhaps now was a good time to go ahead and drink himself into a coma before he managed to horrify himself even further.
A mixture of relief and fear came over Aemilia when a messenger came by one week and a half into her trip bearing news that the Queen had requested her presence at the palace in two days' time. She was relieved because it meant she would go home a day earlier than planned, but she was quite fearful because the message did not explain the nature of the visit.
Ayre had automatically, and enthusiastically, assumed that the Queen was clearly planning to invite her to sing for the court again, and in all likelihood, she was correct. The alternative was that the Queen had discovered her son's illicit activities and planned to string Aemilia up by her toes and torture her until she vowed to stay away from Loki.
It was highly unlikely, since Loki had been sampling the fairer sex for centuries and Frigga surely knew this, plus she didn't really appear to be the torturing type. That was more the King's forte, Aemilia thought.
But still, she was nervous, and she remained nervous when the day came and she departed with her parents back to the city of Asgard. She took her own carriage, as the invitation had been for her only, and soon she found herself being let into the palace grounds and warmly greeted by one of the Queen's handmaids as her horse and carriage were tended to in the stables.
She was hyperaware of her surroundings as the young maid led her through the main entrance and then down a hallway, up quite a few stairs and down another, longer hallway, then up yet more stairs. They were headed for the Queen's private chambers, the maid told her, and that sent another small wave of alarm through Aemilia. Wasn't that a little too familiar for a singer who had only met the Queen twice?
She paid close attention to the many rooms and doors that she passed, wondering if any of them were the one that she had spent so many of her nights in. She'd never seen it from the outside, never even stepped out on its balcony to see the view that he got to wake up to every morning. She had no idea what its doors even looked like.
Which was why she almost rolled her eyes when the maid led her past a set of doors with golden handles shaped like the horns of his helmet. He really deserved to be teased about that. She wondered, did Thor's room have feather handles?
"We are here, my lady," the maid said, rousing Aemilia from her musings, and she swallowed down her shock at how close Loki's rooms were to his mother's. She really, really hoped that his soundproofing spells were as effective as he claimed, otherwise she might have to go outside and dig a hole to peacefully die of mortification in.
She walked through the large, beautifully carved doors that the maid opened for her, and smiled as Queen Frigga immediately came into view. Her sitting room was incredibly large and gorgeously decorated, all muted, elegant shades of aqua, violet, gold, silver, and some that looked like they had no name as of yet. The room smelled of flowers, like she was standing in the midst of a garden, and yet none of it was quite as beautiful as the Queen herself.
"Lady Aemilia," Frigga smiled warmly as she curtsied, giving the maid a nod to dismiss her. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."
"Thank you, my Queen," Aemilia smiled in response, a little bit surprised when Frigga put an arm around her shoulders and began leading her to two small couches with a table in between.
"I hope your travels were safe," Frigga said, motioning for her to sit on one of the couches while she sat on the other. "My condolences for the loss of your uncle."
"I hardly knew him, to be honest," Aemilia replied, taking note of the tea set on the table before her. The kettle and cups and saucers appeared to be made entirely of gold, with diamonds accented throughout, and yet it wasn't gaudy. Her family was rich, but nowhere near rich enough for her to have ever seen anything like it before. Then again, when she looked up at the Queen and took in her appearance - hair immaculate, face glowing, body draped in a peach-colored gown that shimmered like it was embroidered with thousands of tiny diamonds within the light fabric (maybe it was) - and suddenly, her own rather expensive medium-blue dress seemed positively dumpy in comparison. "But thank you, all the same."
Frigga nodded, a serene smile on her lips. "I am sure you are curious as to why I asked you here today. There is an event here at the palace that I am overseeing the planning of, and while I am not yet at liberty to tell you exactly what the event is, I can tell you that it would be our great honor to have you sing at its open."
Relief rushed over Aemilia. How foolish she'd been to fear being hung by her toes, by this radiant woman who simply oozed love from her very pores. "Oh. It would be my privilege, my Queen. Thank you so much for giving me the honor."
"You have the loveliest voice that I've heard in some time," Frigga smiled. "It will be our privilege. Now, I will arrange for you to meet with our composer, and you must begin preparing by week's end. Anything that you need, I will personally see that you have it."
"Thank you," Aemilia replied, excitement starting to trickle through her veins. "I am truly at a loss for what to say."
"Oh, my dear," Frigga chuckled lightly. "You are a sweet girl. Do you have any other areas of interest, other than singing and music?"
"Oh, well... I enjoy writing and drawing, but I don't feel particularly skilled in either. I try to stick to singing."
"You are modest," Frigga noted. "It is becoming."
"Thank you," Aemilia said for what felt like the thousandth time.
"Is my son treating you well?"
At this, Aemilia was fairly sure that her heart stopped beating. There was nothing smooth or calm about the way that her eyes widened and didn't blink as she held her breath, feeling like a child caught with something they really weren't supposed to have.
"I... "
"I've known since the opera, dear, you needn't be anxious," Frigga said calmly, without a trace of hostility or judgement in her tone. "I only wish to know if he is treating you well."
Aemilia swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to compose herself. "He... yes."
"Good. And your courtship, how does it fare?"
She swallowed again, though now her mouth and throat were completely dry and it was painful. "I believe he will propose soon."
"Has my son given any indication that he will stop this from happening?" Frigga asked. "Forgive my questions, but he will not give me answers himself."
"No," Aemilia replied. "I... don't believe he truly knows what he wants."
Frigga nodded at this, like she understood what she meant all too well. It was surreal. "How long have the two of you been involved?"
What a diplomatic way of putting it. "Since the week after I first sang at the palace."
"Then I was correct." When Aemilia looked puzzled, Frigga went on, "I began to notice a significant change in him at that time. A change for the better - smiling more, withdrawing less. But then he would revert back to more... irritable behavior when he accompanied me to Alfheim some time ago, as well as these last few weeks."
"Oh." She wasn't sure what else to say to that.
"Do you care for him?"
Her heart suddenly felt heavy. She'd never spoken aloud of her affair to anyone until now, and yet now she was speaking candidly of it to his mother, the Queen. "Yes." There was no use in denying it. "Deeply."
Frigga sighed. "He cares for you as well, but he is stubborn and... conflicted. He has been this way since birth. It is simply his nature. And I have always told him that his lack of self-perception is his greatest deficit. I fear he will let you slip by and leave you both to misery."
"I wouldn't... I don't... believe that he would be miserable in the event of my engagement, your grace," Aemilia said, trying to think of a way to delicately say what she next intended to. "He was quite clear from the outset what his intentions were."
"I don't doubt that he was," Frigga replied. "But I know my son. And I've never seen him so affected by a woman. When we saw you at the opera, the way that he watched you... it is the way all women wish for a man to look at them."
Suddenly uncomfortable at the implication of this, Aemilia tried to think of a way to redirect the conversation. "Forgive me for asking this, my Queen, but... does anyone else know?"
"His brother knows," Frigga replied. "He worked it out on his own, even before I did. But I have not, and will not, tell another soul. You can count on Thor's discretion as well."
"I suppose this sort of thing is not... uncommon," Aemilia muttered.
Frigga nodded sympathetically. "I raised my sons to treat women with respect and court them properly, but... they are men. It is unfair to you, Aemilia, and I am fully aware of this. If others were to find out, you would lose everything and my son would lose nothing. Asgardian society is not nearly as advanced as we would like to think."
"Yes, but he has never forced me. Whatever consequences I do or do not face, they will be due to my own choices. I will accept them accordingly."
"You have strength," Frigga observed. "I can see why he is taken with you. I think you make a fine match for him."
Though she would eternally be flattered that this elegant, admirable woman thought her a suitable match for her son, her words hurt to hear, because Aemilia was quite sure that it would make no difference in the end. "Thank you, your grace."
Frigga nodded, then glanced towards the wall before drawing a breath. "I'm afraid I must on my way now, I am needed in court."
"Of course," Aemilia nodded, standing up as the Queen also stood. "Thank you for the invitation and your... concern, as well as your candor."
Frigga smiled, taking her hand comfortingly as they walked towards the door. "And I thank you for your honesty, dear girl. It is certainly not Loki's strongest suit, as I am sure you know."
When they reached the door, Frigga turned to Aemilia and said, "If you wish to return home, I will have my handmaid come and show you the way out. Or, I believe Loki will be returning from the training grounds soon, if you wished to wait for him in his chambers."
This was just... bizarre. It was good, and a relief that his mother knew of their affair and apparently gave it her blessing, but bizarre all the same. "Yes, thank you, I will do that."
Frigga smiled. "Walk with me, and I'll ensure you are not seen."
Loki marched through the palace hallways, hair sweat-dampened and feet heavy as they stamped along the pristine floors, an audible warning to anyone who thought it a good idea to spare him so much as a passing glance. He'd just gotten done training alone for the last few - three? Four? - hours, and it was only a mildly satisfying stress reliever.
Thor was off hunting with Sif and the warriors, and Loki had declined his invitation to join earlier that morning without a second thought. Thor had asked what had him so grumpy lately with a very non-subtle wink, and Loki had rolled his eyes and ignored him. He was not "grumpy". He was simply...
Well, perhaps he was a bit grumpy. And perhaps it was getting worse the closer Aemilia's return drew, because the quicker it approached, the more his anticipation and impatience grew, which in turn led to self-ridicule and more sour moods. What else did Thor expect?
Once he reached his doors, he walked in and slammed them shut behind him without a thought, then reached for the hem of his black tunic before looking up and freezing in place. On his bed there was a little blue splash of color amidst the green silk, and bright eyes met his over the edge of a book held in small hands.
Not again, he thought irritatedly. He'd been taking a sleeping draught to aid his insomnia, and it had helped get his magic back under control - this didn't really make sense.
Slowly, Aemilia dropped the book to bed, next to her lap, staring at him warily. When willing her to disappear back into his consciousness didn't work, Loki turned away from her and headed towards his bath. "Leave."
It was when he glanced at his bed one more time that he realized the girl was no projection - she was staring at him with an expression as if he'd slapped her, and she was certainly not dissolving into thin air like a double would.
Oh.
"Aemilia?"
He said it like he'd just recognized her after mistaking her for another.
"Who did you think I was?" she demanded, hurt giving way to slight anger.
"I thought you weren't due back until tomorrow," he said lamely, silvertongue currently malfunctioning.
"I apologize for my early return," she said, quickly getting up from the bed, and it was then that he was able to fully take in her appearance - barefoot, hair down, the front laces of her dress loosened enough to give him a peek of what lay beneath - and he could have thrown himself out of a window for being such an idiot. "I'll be on my way."
He appeared in front of her just before she reached the doors, and she skidded to a halt before their chests could collide. "You aren't going anywhere," he said, bewilderment gone from his eyes and replaced by hunger. Oh, how hungry he was. "What are you doing here?"
"I had business here at the palace that brought me home a day early," she said, her tone not as harsh now as her eyes raked over him. He knew she'd like him like this. "Foolishly I decided to come here and surprise you."
"No, I am the fool," he said quickly, reaching out to her. Her gaze remained stony but she didn't shrink from his hand as it cupped her jaw. "Forgive me. I thought you an illusion."
Her eyes dropped to his lips as they softened at his words - silvertongue no longer malfunctioning - and he leaned in to taste her lips like a man dying of thirst who had been brought to a well.
But she placed two fingers on his lips and stopped him. "Answer me something first."
He then watched as she slipped away, strolling to his desk, surely knowing his eyes would be glued to her hips as she moved. He was going to utterly devour her.
She picked up a piece of paper from his desk and spun around, holding up her sketch of him and raising an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"
Valhalla, he'd missed her.
She was fairly sure that she deserved a monument built to her self-restraint. Her insides had turned to fire the moment he walked through his door looking so deliciously sweaty and lightly clothed that it was a wonder she hadn't lost it then and there, and pretending to be upset about her stolen sketch when she could be on her knees was taking every bit of willpower she owned.
Especially when he disappeared and reappeared an inch away from her looking like a ravenous beast himself.
"Oh, that," he said casually with a smile, fingers reaching between them and plucking at the laces of her dress that she'd half-undone in an attempt to be seductive. "You are rather multi-talented. I was impressed and wanted to keep it."
He then snatched the paper from her hand and set it behind her, pressing his body fully against hers as he did. He was already rock hard and jabbing into her thigh through his thin clothing, and her knees ached to hit the floor for him. "You're rather fond of violating my privacy."
"Tell me you didn't look through my things while you waited here for me," he challenged, returning his attention to her dress. He tore at the laces and they snapped, making her jump a little in surprise.
"I didn't, actually," she replied, her dress sliding off of her shoulders as he pushed her back against the desk, one of his legs sliding between both of hers. "Unless you count perusing your rather extensive library."
"I admire your restraint, little one," he said, breaking eye contact only to lean into her ear and drop his voice to an unbearably seductive whisper. "But if you do not drop this act of resistance and unleash yourself upon me I will tie you to my bed and see that you scream until you lose that pretty voice of yours."
Well, he asked for it.
She threw herself at him with enough force to make him stagger backwards a step or two, sealing her lips to his in a fiery kiss that she felt in her very soul. He growled his approval against her lips, then moaned when she buried her hand in his damp hair and yanked it back so she could sink her teeth into his neck. His last mark was still visible on her own neck, so damn it all, this time she was going to mark him too, whether he liked or not.
He appeared to love it, a shockingly wanton sound escaping his throat, and it made her already-burning body jolt like lightning had struck her. She licked the spot that she had bitten and then felt her own head being yanked back, opening her eyes to only for a second see the blazing within his own before he crushed his mouth against hers and started moving them across the room.
They didn't make it to the bed, but they made it to a little couch in front of one of his many bookshelves. He tried to throw her on it but she wrapped her leg around one of his own and somehow managed to turn him around and push him down instead - she didn't know how she did it, and he didn't either, looking slightly confused when his back hit the backrest and she clambered on to his lap. She merely smiled and kissed him as her hands attacked his shirt, forcing her to break away from his lips to yank it over his head. Then her hands ran over the blessedly exposed chest, savoring how it felt under her fingertips, committing it all to memory, nearly distracting her from the way he gripped the back of her dress and tore it down the middle.
One day, she would send him a bill for the high number of dresses that hadn't survived his hands.
She tossed the ruined dress to the floor, then was immediately pulled tightly to his chest, and she gripped his hair as his mouth latched to a nipple and refused to let go until she was grinding down against him for need of friction. It was then, as his tongue teased her into a frenzy and his hips moved torturously with hers, that she started to feel the ache in her knees again. Once she imagined it, giving in and doing what she wanted, her mouth started to water, and she gave his hair another yank, forcing him off of her and allowing her to slide off of him and drop to her knees on the floor.
She didn't need to take his knees and push his legs apart, because they were wide open anyway, like they quite literally always were, even when he was standing. She simply took her place between them and set her fingers to the task of undoing the laces of his trousers as she kissed the planes of his chest down to his stomach, and he moved his hands through her hair, watching as her mouth moved lower while her fingers worked on freeing him.
She didn't notice how badly her fingers shook until she pulled away a bit and realized she hadn't done a damn thing to actually loosen the laces. Then, before her eyes, the trousers vanished, and she glanced up to find Loki grinning at her.
"Anticipation getting the better of you?"
She rolled her eyes and let her nails bite into his thighs. He tensed and she flipped her hair over one shoulder before taking him in her hand, staring up at him as she lazily gave him a few strokes. "I've half a mind to make you beg."
His grin widened. "Who says you you'd have to make me?" When she only raised an eyebrow in response, he added, "You look magnificent on your knees."
She responded by parting her lips and tasting just the tip of him with her tongue. She teased him purposefully, looking up and watching for his reactions as she did everything but close her lips around him - a kiss here, a long lick there, a twist of her hand, perhaps all three at once. His hand rested in her hair but didn't push or pull her, and his eyes didn't break contact with hers until she ran out of will to resist and took him fully into her mouth.
His eyes slid shut and so did hers, and the groan that rumbled out of his chest spurred her on as she let him hit the back of her throat. His hand closed in a fist in her hair but still didn't apply any pressure as she started a rhythm in tandem with her hand. She listened to a chorus of his ragged breaths and carefree moans, the ache between her legs bordering on painful as it grew with each sound he made.
She could feel him tensing under her free hand after only a few moments, heard his voice becoming more and more out of control, and she didn't think she'd ever gotten him to the edge so quickly before. He didn't protest or try to pull her away, and she was glad, because she wouldn't have let him try to prolong his peak anyway.
His fist in her hair tugged back a bit, and she tilted her head differently to look up at him. Their eyes met, and she savored the color staining his pale cheeks, the way his mouth hung open as his breaths started coming in gasps, and the trail of his eyes as he watched himself disappear in her skilled little mouth. He was so beautiful it hurt.
And then, she watched the stages of his release play out on his face. He was open, unguarded, shockingly vulnerable as he felt himself tipping over the edge, his eyes leaving hers and drifting upwards, unseeing, as he surrendered to what was washing over him. For as loud as he had been until now, his mouth stayed open in an utterly silent cry and somehow it was more powerful that way. His head slowly tilted back, his eyes still open and rapturously unfocused as she began drinking him down, and just watching him was so nearly enough to make her nearly come undone herself.
When the end came, he had let his head hit the back of the couch and only when the pleasure had begun to ebb did he close his eyes, just a corner of his upper lip curling as he exhaled deeply. She didn't release him until his last little twitches and aftershocks had faded, and her heart thudded when she saw that one of his hands had covered her free one as it had rested on his hipbone. She hadn't even noticed, but that touch alone seemed to make it all so very much more... intimate.
Then he drew his hand away to run it through her hair as his panting breaths shifted to a rumbling chuckle. He guided her up off of her knees with that hand, raising his head slowly as he said slightly hoarsely, "Oh, I've missed you."
She smiled as she straddled him once more, placing her hands on his shoulders as one of his reached up to her lips. His thumb wiped at the corner of her mouth and then pressed against her bottom lip, and she gently sucked away the last trace of him.
"Can I tell you something, with full sincerity?"
She looked at him skeptically as she released his thumb. He let it wander over to her cheek as she replied, "I don't know, can you?"
He grinned, his eyes still hazy with satisfaction. "You are better with your mouth than any lover I've had."
Her first instinct was to doubt his sincerity, but what reason did he have to lie? He was looking at her in a way that made her heart start thudding again, like when she had seen his hand over hers a moment ago, and she said the first thing that entered her mind. "Then I suppose you've taught me well."
"I've taught you technique," he replied. "That is only part of what makes you the best I've had." He then looked at her like she was a puzzle, studying her before he asked, "Why do you enjoy it as you do?"
She blinked, having never really thought about it until now. "Did your other lovers not enjoy it?"
He smiled at her like she was an innocent child that he was about to break an unpleasant truth to. "Generally, no, Aemilia. It is not the average woman's favorite task."
Oh. "I... well, I suppose that I enjoy it because I know that you enjoy it. And I like..."
"Like what?"
She drew a breath. "I like hearing you and watching you while I'm doing it."
"And it arouses you."
It did more than she could express in words. She didn't have to, though, because he reached between her legs and found out for himself exactly what pleasuring him did to her.
"You confound me, woman," he said, fingers idly stroking her as he dropped his lips to the base of her neck. "I've never had anything like you before."
She clutched him as he licked up her neck, slowly rocking against his hand, and she wondered if he really was that confused by what should have been abundantly clear to him by now.
He'd never had anything like her before, because clearly, he'd never had a lover who actually loved him before.
The truth hit her with such force she could have believed that Mjolnir had just been tossed at her face. Her hips stopped moving and his lips kissed her jaw just before he pulled away and met her suddenly-sober gaze. She stared at him, recalling his mother's words about the way Loki looked at her, and suddenly she understood what the Queen had meant.
When had he started looking at her like she was the very air to his lungs, the water to his parched lips? Was he even aware himself? Certainly he wasn't.
The way that her heart ached under his gaze only confirmed her sudden epiphany. She was beyond being in too deep. She'd fallen to her fiery end before she could even realize that she had jumped, and now all she could do was wait until she hit the ground and was utterly consumed.
Ruined, doomed, cursed, damned. She was all of those words and more.
"Loki..."
He exhaled a little too deeply at the sound of his name. His hand had slowed down to a leisurely, barely-there touch that felt more like a caress than anything, his eyes falling to her lips before moving back up to her eyes.
Nine Realms, how she had ached for him these last two weeks.
"I've missed you," she said, not meaning to whisper brokenly. A small smile grew on his lips, and he kissed the corner of her mouth.
Two fingers slid within her and she shuddered as he whispered against her mouth, "How much?"
"Too much," she replied, straining to shade her voice with humor. She wouldn't dare let him know that she was nearly about to burst, she felt so much.
"Show me."
She didn't mean to moan, but she did as she grabbed his face and kissed him desperately. It was far easier than speaking words and much less dangerous, since she didn't trust herself to not say something she'd regret. He answered her kiss with equal fervor, one hand splayed on the small of her back, holding her close while the other twisted and moved quicker between her legs. His thumb brushed her most sensitive spot but only just, and after a few moments of teasing, she broke away from their heated kiss to half-gasp "Don't tease me, Loki, I haven't long until I must return home."
He growled and narrowed his eyes at her, giving her what she wanted but also digging his other fingertips into her back enough to make her wince. The dueling sensations made her moan - it was wonderful.
"No," he said with a tone of finality, though she heard the desperation under his tone. "Stay."
"I cannot, my -" she faltered and groaned at the curl of his fingers, "my mother expects me back within..."
She yelped when he ripped his hand away from her and then gripped her hips and pulled her down, burying himself within her before she could so much as breathe. "Your Prince requires you to stay," he demanded, lifting her up and slamming her back down to make his point, "so you will stay."
She couldn't have argued if she wanted to, and she didn't, so she gave in to the pleasure and let him guide them in an unrelenting, wholly ungentle pace. Just two weeks apart had left her needing to readjust to him, but she welcomed the slight pain of it, letting it ground her and anchor her to reality to keep from being washed away by the seductive lure of the sheer contentment she felt at being with him again.
A moment later he growled and her world flipped, literally, as she felt her back hit a sea of silk. She was now in the middle of his bed, that place she had been yearning to return to for what had felt like much longer than two weeks, and he smiled down at her and chuckled as he grabbed the back of her knee and lifted her leg up over his shoulder.
She didn't ask what was so amusing, because she really didn't want to know. She simply only wanted to enjoy the look on his face, the joy etched on it so briefly as they lost themselves to the moment at hand. He pushed inside of her and took her deeply, as deeply as he could, and his lips crashed down on hers and swallowed her shaky cries.
Broken words left his lips as he gasped between kisses, his grip on her leg bruising as the other tangled in her hair, and she tried to understand what he was saying, but all she could make out was her name and a few curses as they fell from his tongue. There was no finesse or art to how he pounded into her, only sheer need and desperation to be closer, and she wouldn't have asked for anything different, not this time.
He made her come twice before she begged him to let himself go and take her as he pleased, and when he did, he braced himself on the headboard and let his need take him over. It was enough to make her fall apart a third time, almost crying in relief when his voice left his throat in a rough, final moan. She knew she would suffer from the aftermath of this roughness if he didn't heal her, but even the pain would be so much better than feeling what she had for the last two weeks, which was nothing at all.
After, Loki rolled away from Aemilia and quickly pulled her towards him, taking a deep breath and looking at her with slightly heavy green eyes. His tone was one of pure seriousness as he said, "Stay."
She smiled, her fingertips dancing on his chest as she replied, "I told you, Loki, I must return home."
She expected him to invoke his royal authority again, but instead, he asked, "What business brought you here to the palace today?"
"Your mother invited me to sing at a future event. I do not know what event, but I will be spending a few days a week here working with your composers." When Loki did not appear to have a comment for this, she added, "You never told me that she knew. Or your brother."
"Does it matter? Truly?"
She pursed her lips. "Perhaps not to you."
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he rolled himself on top of her again, lifting up on his elbows as he grinned down at her. "I can make you stay, you know."
"Oh?"
He kissed her quickly before grinning wider. "Oh yes. What power have you to leave or so much as speak coherently when my tongue is between your thighs? After all," he tilted his head, "I absolutely must return the exquisite favor you were so eager to bestow upon me earlier."
He kissed her neck and she ran her hands through his damp hair, smiling as she replied, "Later, please... let me go home and eat dinner with my family, and then I shall be yours."
"Mine," he hummed, kissing down her skin, lingering at the swell of her breast as he kissed it softly. She watched as he dropped his face between her breasts and appeared to inhale deeply before raising his head and saying, "I'm afraid I cannot send you home in this condition, my lady. You positively reek of me."
She then watched as he raised himself up and moved from the bed, taking her hand and guiding her to do the same as he said, "Come. Take a bath with me."
On the one hand, she didn't want to wash his scent away - he had such a distinct, intoxicating natural scent, and she loved how it lingered for hours on her skin when she would leave him. But on the other hand, she had never had a bath with him before, and she wouldn't dare decline such an invitation.
His bathtub was as enormous and elaborately carved and gilded as she had expected, and it filled quickly when he turned on the taps. Luxurious oils poured in of their own accord from smaller taps of their own, and the room filled with their assorted scents just before he shut off the taps and turned to her with a hand outstretched.
He helped her in first, then slid into the hot water behind her. She closed her eyes and purred as relaxation overcame her, leading her to lean back and lay her head on his shoulder. Her hands were on his knees that she was nestled between, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her where her ear met her jaw.
"Valhalla," she sighed, and he chuckled, his hands roaming up her stomach and down her side. "Now this is a bath."
"Mmm," he hummed in agreement, moving his lips to her temple, where he kissed gently. Her hands ran slowly up and down, from his knees to his thighs, and inside she felt a sense of wonder of just how wonderful it felt to lie with him like this, how simple and easy it was. How perfectly she could imagine living this way, every day, with him, his touch, his kiss, his affection.
She could take it all, the good and the bad, and she would take it gladly. She would so easily be his if she could, if he but said the word.
"Did your eye wander in my absence?"
She was as surprised by her question as he was. She didn't open her eyes, but felt his smirk on her temple before he answered. "Would you be angry if it had?"
"Perhaps," she replied.
"Then I shall put your mind at ease. My only pleasure came by my own hand, to thoughts only of you."
Her stomach flipped lightly at his words, though she wasn't sure why. Her eyes opened. "It's difficult to believe a master of lies when he says such things."
"I could show you," he said, running his fingers through her hair, most of it soaked and floating through the water. "Let you have a look inside my mind, my memories. Or I could just describe it to you."
She bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She watched her own hands move over his knees as they poked out of the water, waiting for him to choose for himself.
"It has been... centuries, since I have been compelled to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. I've never needed to."
"You still do not need to," she pointed out. "If you had so desired, you could have had your pick of bedmates in my absence."
"If I had so desired, yes," he replied. "What would you say, Aemilia, if I told you that early on in our scandalous little affair, I was propositioned by an old lover in my chambers. A pretty little whore who has centuries of experience to your several months."
Aemilia's eyes widened and she turned to look at Loki. He was smirking. She felt jealousy rising up inside.
"She got on her knees like she had many times for me before, right in the middle of my bedroom. She opened her mouth and placed it upon me and moaned like she she'd never tasted anything so sweet."
She was now staring at Loki with such anger that a lesser man would have withered under it. She didn't notice how the temperature of the water rose along with her anger.
"Would you like to know what happened next, little one?"
"I'd rather not," Aemilia snapped, shoving herself off of him with the intent of getting far away from him. But his arm quickly snatched her and held her against his chest.
His whisper in her ear was harsh. "I thought of you. Imagined that it was your mouth instead of hers, your eyes looking up at me instead. And then I forced her off of me and quite literally threw her out of my room."
Her angry stare now mingled with a look of pure confusion. "Why?"
"I desire only you."
She felt her mouth drop open as a thousand thoughts raced through her head at once. She was still angry that he'd broken his word to her and let another woman get that far with him, but it wasn't exactly surprising.
Eventually, her mind settled on how to feel about this and she looked away from him, staring forward without really seeing anything.
"Are you upset with me?"
"No," she said in a small voice. "But perhaps I will be when the day comes that I come to you and you throw me out of your room because you've found someone new to desire."
All of the good, warm feelings that had come with being reunited were now fading under the harsh light of truth. His little admission had reminded her of what this truly was, her relationship with the Prince - for all of her growing love for him and his confusing attachment to her, this was still an illicit, shameful affair, doomed to fail from the outset. There was no happy ending, only one that grew more and more dire the deeper she fell for him.
His fingers took her chin and turned her to look at him. Their faces were only a breath apart, and he was looking at her like she was the single most bewildering creature he'd ever laid eyes on.
"You speak nonsense," he said, staring at her as if he were working out a problem of arithmetic in his head. "Why does telling you of my fidelity bring you this... sadness?"
"Fidelity," she repeated, laughing as she turned away from him again and laid her head back on his shoulder. His arm was still firm around her waist, so she wasn't going anywhere. "There is no fidelity in something such as this, your highness. And thinking of me while some whore gives you favors is not fidelity."
She stared at the ceiling as he paused for a few long moments. "It was a rather foolish attempt to prove to myself that you were as good as any other. I reached the opposite conclusion."
She closed her eyes, fighting another swell of anger in her chest. The water temperature began to rise again, and she didn't notice it this time either. "Who was she?"
"Ilyana, daughter of Iuli," Loki answered.
At this, Aemilia stiffened and opened her eyes. His arm tightened around her as he sensed that she would flee again. "Her? That painted little... that..."
"Yes."
She wanted to strangle the Prince behind her. Of all of the depraved, cheap, notoriously shameless whores that he could have had...
"I didn't tell you this to be cruel, Aemilia," Loki said, and she turned to look at him as he spoke. "I don't want your anger, and I certainly don't want to see you distressed."
"Don't you?" she asked, with a laugh devoid of any humor. "My distress and misery were two of your most important goals when this began, were they not?"
He looked down at her lips and appeared fully sincere when he looked back into her eyes and said, "I've grown to despise your pain as much I do my own."
Her brows furrowed and she looked away, too confused to think properly. "You have odd ways of showing it."
She heard him chuckle and felt his lips graze her ear. "As do you. Tell me, why do you draw me?"
She blinked slowly, not wanting to answer. In fact, she was entirely tired of speaking, and nearly sick of feeling. She felt more drained than she could remember ever feeling before.
"I have a very precisely detailed memory. I can draw things I've seen somewhat well without additional reference. It is really nothing more than that."
"Ah," he said, placing a kiss on her neck just under her ear. "Of course."
She still wanted to strangle him. She was still angry. She should have pushed him away and insisted on leaving, and perhaps punish him for a few days by refusing to come to his bed when he called. Instead, she twisted herself around so that her chest was pressed to his and she kissed him.
She kissed him the way that he most often kissed her, hard and dominant and possessive, and she knew that she was lighting the fire between them again by doing it. She didn't know what else to do - this was what he had taught her, what she knew and was familiar with. It was what she would always want, no matter the reasons why she should not.
He purred in appreciation of her roughness and crushed her against him with his arms, letting her do as she wished and answering her kiss with his own unquenchable thirst.
She didn't hesitate to sink her teeth into his bottom lip when the desire presented itself. She knew he'd love it, and it gave her the chance to draw herself away for a second or two and whisper heatedly against his lips, "I hate you."
He laughed, low in his throat, and looked up at her with glimmering eyes. "Leave the lies to me, darling. They suit me far better."
A/N: these chapters just keeping longer... and longer... and longer :) and angstier. I had to sit down and type out an actual outline (which I NEVER do) for the next three chapters because SO MUCH CRAP is gonna be happening and I couldn't keep it all straight in my head. I can't overstate just how eventful the upcoming chapters are going to be and how giddy I am to have reached this point in the story :) eeeeeeee!
And I have a little gift for you guys this week! As soon as I'm done posting this chapter, I'm uploading a tie-in oneshot called Seeing Double, and it can be considered an extension to this chapter, detailing the events of what happens after Aemilia finally goes home and has dinner with her folks and then gets promptly whisked back to Loki's room, lol. I'm posting it separate because it is utterly PWP, and a tad... different. In a good (slightly weird) way :)
Thank you guys for all of your reviews, alerts, favorites, it means a lotttt to me and EEP we got to 100 reviews! *puts on party hat and dances* Maybe, as an incentive for all of your continued reviewing, I'll throw in amother bonus chapter/oneshot with every future review milestone (200th review, 300th, etc.), as a bribe/show of my immense gratitude :) I mean, why not? It'll be fun. So keep da feedback coming :) you're all amazing. And so is midnightwings96. :D a particular Loki visual in this chapter is her fault... I'm curious if any Hiddles fans will recognize it. I will send a huge imaginary e-cookie to anyone who does.
Geez this note is going on forever. I'll shut up now. Go check out the oneshot! Pretty please! :D