Their skin was still damp with sweat as Darcy lay with her head on Loki's chest. She was absently running a finger up and down the arm that wasn't wrapped around her shoulders.

"I can't believe it's our three month sexiversary."

Loki made an amused noise, "Charming."

She pushed herself up so she could look him in the eyes, "No, seriously. Did you think we'd really be able to hide this for so long? Because I sure didn't. We're so good at being sneaky - we're like sex ninjas."

He just gave that indulgent look he was wont to give her lately, "If you say so."

She put her head back down on his chest. As silence descended once more, Darcy wondered if he realized the way he looked at her. It was as if each night he was half-afraid, half-hopeful that she was nothing more than one of his illusions. And each morning when they woke, the reality of her existence confirmed, he would look half-pleased, half-disappointed. It was enough to give a girl a complex. He didn't want to want her. Great.

Well, she didn't want to want him either and you didn't see her giving him desperate looks. Or…well, at least she didn't think she did. Did she?

Probably. Damn.

Well, to be fair – she hadn't intended to get so involved with Loki. Sexually, yes. Emotionally, no. Not just no, but hell no. He was dangerous and scary and complicated – not the kind of guy who you could trust not to hurt you. Hell, something could set him off and she could end up dead. Or worse. You never knew with him.

But she couldn't help it. He made her laugh. She found herself waiting impatiently all day just so that she could see him at night. And it wasn't just about the sex – despite how fucking amazing that was. She wanted to see what he did that day, and tell him little stories about her day, and make fun of the silly people they worked with – damn, what she wanted from him was so simple. Had she felt this way about anyone else, she'd be calling her mother and telling her she was in love.

But she didn't love Loki. She couldn't. Talk about a death wish.

But try as she might, she found herself echoing him – she couldn't help being both hopeful and afraid that he was nothing more than illusion. He seemed so unreal sometimes. He was terrifying and beautiful and broken. There was a darkness inside of him that she knew she should run from, but she couldn't. Even the scary parts drew her in.

And not being able to talk about it with anyone else was killing her. She freaking longed to have a girly chat with Jane – and that was really saying something. But no one would understand. And worst of all – it would end. They were living in a bubble, and if it burst and reality set in, they would have to stop. And she didn't want it to stop. Not ever. And she wasn't content with just the nights anymore.

She wanted more – she wanted everything.

She was so fucked.

The silence was peaceful, but as she watched the movement of her finger on his skin, she couldn't keep the question from popping out, "What do you look like when you're a Frost Giant?"

She felt the chest beneath her still for a moment before it resumed the gentle rise and fall. His voice was soft and calm when he answered, "My brother has a big mouth. You do not want to know, Darcy. Trust me. Only think of me this way."

Well, the hell with that. She propped herself up on her elbow, leaning over him again. "I'm serious. It's your Jötunn form, right? What's it like?"

He turned away from her and started to sit up, but she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back down beside her. "Loki, I promise I can handle it."

He sighed, "No, little mortal, you really cannot. I know you mean well, and I know that you are curious by nature. But this is one thing you really should leave alone."

"Why? It's a part of you, so it can't be that bad. Unless you turn into a giant spider. If not, I promise I can handle it." He didn't say anything, so she continued, "Frost Giant makes me think of the Abominable Snowman. He was cool. I could handle banging a yeti. Really, I could."

He looked at her incredulously, "I do not turn into a damned yeti!"

"Or a spider? Because that's the one thing I really couldn't handle."

"No, I do not become an arachnid. Well, unless I want to." He looked down at her, at the sincerity in her eyes, and sighed again. "Do you truly wish to know what my birth form looks like?"

"Yes!" She nearly shouted, then continued much more quietly, "Please."

He braced himself. This would change things between them. Knowledge always changed things.

"In my Jötunn form, my skin is blue." He paused, gauging her response.

"Cool. I like blue. Is that it?"

"My eyes…they turn red." He clenched his jaw and waited for her reaction to that.

"The whole eye or just the iris?" Her voice was curious, but not disgusted or scared.

"All of it." She wasn't reacting negatively, so he figured he'd let her have everything. "And my teeth elongate into fangs. Markings - sigils really - appear on various parts of my body."

"Like tribal tats?" Still, her voice only held curiosity.

"Comparable, I suppose."

Well, that didn't sound so bad. "Anything else? Horns? Tail? Extra penis?"

He gave a startled laughed, "No to all of the above, I fear."

"Damn," she sighed, "Well at least the one you already have is pretty damn nice."

He wanted to laugh again, but couldn't bring himself to do so. "Darcy, I am blue. Truly blue. Like a Midgardian ocean at midday. My eyes glow red, like a demon from a child's nightmare. I am a child's nightmare."

His face was so serious, so pained, that Darcy didn't have it in her to make a joke. "Loki, I don't care. I told you. I…," her voice trailed off and suddenly she was sitting up, pulling his body with her. "Show me."

He didn't even hesitate. "No. Darcy, no. You will never see me like that. Once you have seen the monster inside, you will never look at the man the same way again. If you were to run fr-…I cannot do that to you."

She had an idea about what he had stopped himself from saying and suddenly everything became way more complicated. It was a good thing she wasn't one for choosing the easy options. He was being stubborn. There was only one way to handle this.

"Show me right now, or I'll tell everyone that you've been banging me seven ways to Sunday."

His voice was cold, "If that is your idea of blackmail, you truly need to work on your technique. I could not care less who knows of our liaison. I am quite certain you would be more damaged by the reveal."

He was smirking, but she could read the pain lurking in his eyes. And the fear. She was teetering on the edge of a line she really shouldn't cross. But she needed to do this – they needed to do this – if this…relationship…was ever going to move beyond a dirty little secret. And she suddenly realized just how much she really wanted it to. These were high stakes and baby wanted to play. And Loki was a master at this game, so she was going to have to hit below the belt.

"Yeah, but when I tell them that you blackmailed me into giving you sexual favors in return for your promise not to hurt my parents…well, they might be a little less amused." In the silence that followed, Darcy could see his jaw clench. His eyes flashed with anger. "Or…you could stop hiding from me, blueboy. I never pegged you for a coward."

She knew she'd taken it one step too far, but she wasn't going to back down on this – it was too important. Suddenly, he was tearing himself from the bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist in an angry jerk.

"Fine. You want to see the monster, you can see the monster."

Darcy wasn't sure what to expect. The way he made it sound, she was bracing herself for the offspring of Freddy Krueger and Smurfette. He brought his hands up to his face and slowly, pale blue coated his fingers, slipping upward as if he were being dipped in paint. Up his arms, his shoulders; raised markings appearing on his chest. Then his face changed. It…turned blue. That was it. Seriously, that was it? Yeah, it was freaky – the eyes were very horror movie chic – but it was still obviously Loki. His face was blue and oddly bumpy, but it was still his face.

Her sigh of relief was audible. She quickly stood up and walked toward him, causing his eyes to widen and his foot to take one hasty step back. She almost giggled at the thought that the God of Mischief was retreating from little old her. She stopped inches from his chest – his still totally lickable chest. He looked confused and alarmed. Poor Loki, always assuming the very worst of himself and others. How to make him understand that she didn't care if he was blue or purple or striped like a candy cane? Perhaps she'd take a play from his book - a bit of mischief couldn't hurt. And she certainly didn't mind a little kink with her grand romantic gestures.

Her smile was pure minx, "Loki, baby, just don't bite me."

And then she threw herself at him with an unexpected ferocity, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her lips to his. Oooohhh…he was cold. She was going to have to experiment a little bit with this. But first, she needed him to loosen up. He had gone completely still when she started assaulting him. She pulled back just enough to look into his totally freaky, red eyes.

She whispered, "Loki, I don't know if you forgot, but you're supposed to kiss me back."

He blinked, and for a minute she almost thought he was in pain, but he simply took a deep breath (ooohhh his breath was cool).

"Darcy. Do I truly not frighten you?" His voice was more hesitant than she'd ever heard from him and that make her giggle internally despite the seriousness of the subject. She finally understood his attraction to throwing people off-balance.

"Nope. It's kinda cool. Literally. Which is giving me ideas, so you have to start participating in this little seduction scene. Loki and Darcy do naughty things, take two. Ready?"

Without waiting for a response, she kissed him again and he slowly began to kiss her back without parting his lips. She swallowed a frustrated sigh and practically raped his closed mouth with her tongue to get him to open up before she remembered the whole fangs thing. She started to pull back to apologize.

Suddenly his tongue was in her mouth and it was cold and that was seriously turning her on for some reason. It was like sucking on a popsicle – but in a really sexy way. All cold and yummy. This was an unexpected but awesome surprise, which really shouldn't have been so shocking considering it was Loki. She wondered how his tongue would feel in more interesting places on her body. Naughty places.

Well, no time like the present. I mean, she was already naked...

She pulled back abruptly, their lips making a suction noise which she would normally laugh at if she weren't so keyed up.

Her voice was breathless but serious, "Loki, your tongue is like an icicle of awesome."

He seemed unsure of how to respond, "Thank you?"

"You're welcome. And since we're being polite, any chance you would consider going down on me? Please? The cold tongue thing is, like, really working for me. Like, a lot."

He stared at her in shock, his mouth gaping just enough for her to see that freaking amazing thing in his mouth. "L-like this?" Wow, she actually made him stutter. "You want me to…pleasure you…like this?"

She would have laughed at his priceless facial expression, but she was too busy being a horny, kinky superslut. Which was so his fault in the first place.

She answered matter-of-factly, "Well, yeah. I could try to improvise some sort of sexy poetry about how your cold tongue is making me so hot, but my brain is a little fuzzy at the mo'."

He wasn't saying anything.

Or, you know, licking anything.

She added, "I'll give you a BJ after."

That seemed fair. But he still wasn't freaking moving.

Frustrated, she huffed, "Loki? If some part of you, preferably your tongue, isn't inside me in about ten seconds, I may literally combust."

She was on her back before she even realized he'd moved. Well, that worked.

As he slid her legs apart, and she started having flashbacks to an experimental afternoon with a tray of ice cubes, she was pretty sure she sorta, kinda, maybe…you know…loved him. Like really loved him.

Fuck.

Loki couldn't stop staring at his hand upon Darcy's shoulder. She lay curled against him – head on his chest, legs entwined with his, arm across his stomach, clinging to him as if she were afraid he would let go of her. Even in sleep, she projected her emotions.

He supposed he should be annoyed at her impression of a comely barnacle, but he simply could not stop staring at the play of color going on before his eyes. He was still in his Jötunn form - and she was still holding tight to him. He tried not to let that affect him.

He failed.

This was not what he had planned regarding this mortal. Not even what he could have imagined. Darcy was unexpected in so many ways. She was supposed to be a bit of nightly entertainment after long days full of boredom and sacrifice for his brother. She was supposed to have blinders on – be attracted to his darkness but scared of it at the same time. She was never supposed to accept it.

She was never supposed to accept him. All of him.

But here she was lying in his arms. What was he supposed to do now? His head told him to run – and hurt her first so that she would not follow. But he was tired of running. And the fact that she embraced the facets of his person that he himself could not was strangely wonderful. Only a fool would give up such an offering. And he was no fool.

But this complicated matters. He was already dangerously fond of her. If he allowed himself to continue on this path with her, there was a risk that he would become too attached. He already was. But right now he only didn't want to lose her. Later, he might find that he simply couldn't lose her. She would have too much power over him. He wanted to believe that she wouldn't exploit it, but the past had been a cruel teacher.

The only solace he could find was in his inability to feel romantic love. He was incapable of the trust necessary for such a thing – and the generosity of self. He would never love her. Because if he had been capable of such a thing, it would have occurred already. As flawed as she was, she complemented him in strange and myriad ways.

So which would it be this time: self-preservation or happiness? He'd chosen the former and it had not turned out too well. This time, he would choose happiness and see what new hell would befall him. He only regretted that there was no way for this to end well for Darcy. They would not be able to hide their relationship forever and she would be the one to bear the brunt of the disdain for their illicit affair. Everyone already believed him to be a bastard, so seducing the innocent mortal girl would be practically expected of him. But Darcy…

Well, she made her bed. She was simply going to have to lie in it. She wasn't leaving him now. And he wasn't going to let anyone else take her from him.

She shivered in his arms, and he watched as the blue faded from his skin. And people said he did not know how to be accommodating.

They would face scorn and confusion and disapproval at every turn. But Darcy was his. And he had always been rather possessive of what was his.

Now he just had to think of a way to keep her.