Loki spends the majority of his time alone.

This is not as great a hardship as it might seem. He values his own company very highly and it is refreshing, that after centuries, he has no one to answer to beside himself. The intricate webs of his lies become much neater when there is distance between himself and the flies. When the urge strikes him, he engages with the natives of other realms, of which there is an infinite number for him to choose. Mostly, his year has been spent waiting and preparing for her. This is their third winter together.

Jane has not engaged with natives. Last year, he had taken her to Alfheim, where observing from afar had been for the benefit of her safety. This year, they are vacationing in an as of yet unnamed realm where the locals have just cobbled themselves together into tribes. Though Loki has offered to escort her among them, she refused. She did not want to interfere with their evolutionary progress. She does not want to be worshiped. Here, she gives him a stern glare. What she does not realize is that these beings already worship Loki and they are the ones who have built their lovely winter home.

Jane has no religion and she eschews the idea of higher powers. In his understanding, this is common among the scholars of Midgardian society. So ignorant is she in her arrogance, she does not even believe in fate. When he tells her tales of the olden days, when he and his brethren accepted sacrifices and laughed openly at the prayers sent to them, she grows very cross with him - never with Thor, despite the large part he played in most of those antics. Strange, that she should be angered on behalf of a people long dead. It amuses him to stoke the fires of her rage and after her abrupt rejection the night before, he wants to share in his foul mood, so he revives the subject of her beliefs, or lack thereof. She dislikes discussing them with him. As with most creatures, humans hold their gods (or godlessness) very close to their hearts.

"I find it odd that you have no faith."

She sighs heavily, her gaze still planted firmly on her notebook, but her hand has stilled. Though she pretends at ease, she is clearly on guard.

"Are we talking about this again?"

"You have seen some of the furthest reaches of the universe. You have been courted by one deity and are presently in the company of another. Wars have been fought over less evidence. Yet, you still have no belief in a higher power."

"No. If anything, it's really solidified my atheism. And you're not a god. You're an alien. We've had this exact same discussion before."

"Semantics. I am still a higher power."

"You're more powerful, but you're not...higher than me. I don't worship you."

She snaps her book shut and finally turns toward him. Her irritation is spiking, presenting itself in the line between her brows and the slight frown twitching at the corners of her lips. Loki raises his hands in placation, but his words offer no peace.

"But you do worship Thor."

Perhaps he's pushed a bit too far. Her irritation gives way to blossoming rage as her mouth falls open and she processes what he has just said. Red mottles her cheeks, emphasized by torchlight. Loki has found that she isn't fond of his brother as a conversational topic, especially not in the context of their relationship. He suspects that mentioning him makes her guilty - and how can she keep her footing on her moral high ground if she feels guilty? She still clings to her human ideals of monogamy, even if she did not strictly adhere to them that one evening the year previous.

This is her fault. She has rebuffed his advances and they have been in each other's constant presence for a month thus far. It is unfair to be subjected to the sight of her slender limbs and dark hair without even an opportunity to touch either. That would be enough to make a man greater than he a touch frustrated. He has literally given her an entire world and still, she pines for another man. That was the reason she gave him for her refusal, at any rate, so gentle and sweet it almost felt mocking. She even had the gall to apologize for coupling with him last winter.

"What do you mean?" Her voice raises in pitch; a warning siren. This is the Jane he likes; not the whispering, awkwardly smiling woman she was the night before when she turned her head away from his kiss. Loki plows forward, though he knows to do so is ill-advised. Their time together is so short and she is so stubborn and he will waste days bearing down the walls of her "silent treatment." Still, he is not one to submit in a battle of words and furthermore, he has a point to make.

"He is your sun. You revolve around him. Without him, you would wither and perish. You hear none of his flaws, though I have laid them plainly before your feet. You place him on a pedestal so high, you feel yourself unworthy of him. You're his priestess. His ascetic. You deny yourself the pleasure I freely offer because of guilt." Bitterness claws up his throat like bile, spilling into his speech. A sneer has twisted his mouth.

"Your offer isn't free. If I fuck you," her mouth ejects the curse with cruelty, "I'm only feeding your ego. Look at you, the big man who took the helpless, vulnerable human from his brother. You couldn't even do it without bribing me. But it doesn't matter. You don't want me. You want to hurt him. It's pathetic.

"If I'm-if I'm the earth, you're the moon. You have nothing of your own, so you just take his light and pretend it's yours. I'm not rejecting you because I'm guilty, Loki. I'm rejecting you because you're you. Because you think I'm a possession you can just rent for a couple months a year. What about that is supposed to be attractive?"

Her anger is contagious and her words deliver it with deadly accuracy. Immortality has made her bold. His hand itches with the desire to strike her, but it would only give her more ammunition. Nothing she says is untrue except for her assertion that he does not desire her and that fact stings far sharper than it should. He wants her. Even when his dearest wish is to silence her, he can think of more than ten wonderful ways to do it.

"I'm unsure, Jane. What made you fuck me in the first place?"

He catches the notebook she hurls at his face and storms away from him, fists clenched at her sides, hackles raised like a wet cat. He would find the sight comical - she is just so small - if it weren't for his own rage, which is now rapidly cooling into annoyance. Her comparison was very apt. More so than his. What she did not take into account was how the moon is pulled into Midgard's orbit and how it revolves around the planet just as sure as it revolves around the sun. Perhaps she did and he is more transparent than previously thought.

Later, he visits her chambers, burdened with insincere apologies. Jane, however, is more interested in blood than honey. She tastes of the carelessly fermented local liquor in which she has carelessly overindulged, if her slurs and dilated pupils are any indication. He likened her to a house cat before, but now, she is feral. If he had more honor - if he were Thor - he would carefully extricate himself from her presence to save her from making a mistake. Loki is not Thor and he has no issues with being one of Jane's regrets. She rides him recklessly with force that belies her tiny frame, furiously working clumsy fingers over herself. There is no rhythm, no delicacy. She chases her pleasure heedlessly, without concern as to how quickly he is following. They both bare teeth - she in an angry grimace contorted with pleasure, he in a manic grin.

Afterwards, she dismisses him and he leaves, without comment, closing the door on her quiet sniffs. He graciously accepts the gift of her hatred. Besides her body, it is the only thing she has freely given him. Unlike her body, it is the only part of her Thor will never have.