A/N: There goes my T rating.

Loki closed the spell book by its back cover. For the five-hundredth and seventy-third time, or something close to that. He could recite it contents backwards by now, while asleep, every spell a part of his fabric as much as blood and bone. He could recite every book in this room for that matter, perhaps even rewrite them into scripts for tacky vampire love stories, then go live off the fat of the land in Hollywood. That was how one truly became a king on Midgard, he now realized.

How dreadfully dull.

Yet, still a scenario more appealing than spending another night staring at the four walls of his childhood bedroom, driving himself to the brink of insanity wondering where one of his wood carvings had disappeared to. He had always had three, lined up side-by-side on the bookshelf, carved by his own daggers and juvenile hands: a falcon, an otter, and a salmon.

And somebody has bloody ran off with the otter!

Loki tossed the book on the floor, creating a loud thud amidst the quiet night air. He was so bored. He couldn't take this anymore. His mind was not meant to muck about with petty quandaries and novice conjuring. He needed a challenge, needed some excitement. He was liable to raze all of Gladsheim and take full credit for it just to watch on in amusement as Thor's face turned a temperamental shade of pink. That would surely occupy his remaining recovery time with a laugh or two.

Unfortunately, outright chaos was not an option at this point in time. Loki had to win the hearts of the people, not skewer them. He was already most of the way there, what with the buzz he kept hearing about the banquet being held in his honor. Apparently they were bringing in the finest talent in Asgard to supply the food and entertainment. He even heard there was to be dancing, a real black tie affair as they say.

He was actually looking forward to this banquet, and not only for the mischief he could arouse in it, but for the subject matter. Finally, Asgard was learning how throw a proper party. Perhaps he would wait until the post-ceremony reveling to spike the mead barrels with his signature—and very much undiscriminating—aphrodisiac spell. It would be more preferable that people actually have their wits about them while he gave his speech. Then after that, they could stagger off to go make passes at the livestock, as they had done in the past.

Mother always had a laugh at that one.

Shame she would miss this party, the homecoming she had always hoped for Loki. He could picture her now, adorned in resplendent silks, sparkling with her finest jewels as she looked upon him with a unique fondness, a pride designated only for him...

A creeping ache spread into Loki's heart, a pain more severe than a sharp inhale across the mending flesh of his lung. Not this again. Not another spiraling detour into grief when he should be focusing on more progressive thoughts.

Such as, he cleared his head, how he was going to keep Sif from spilling everything she knew to Thor.

Loki could tell she was at a breaking point with their secrets. Despite his pleading, it would only be a matter of time before she talked. She couldn't help it. It was in her nature, a trait both irritating and admirable. If only she understood that the truth would come out eventually, but it must be timed appropriately when dealing with Thor and the mindless masses. Nobility and politics were forever a tricky balance.

And then there was the subject of Ollerus. He was a precious gift Loki had yet to unwrap, the one secret he would leave in Sif's hands, what with it being hers from the start. She would know when the time was right to unite them. Loki could only hope it was soon.

"I know that look," came an intrusive and impish voice, belonging to the other teenager lingering in his thoughts. Loki's eyes shot to the window where he watched a swirl of green dust materialize into a semi-translucent projection of his daughter. She was using the same spell Mother had used to visit him in his cell.

Loki wasn't surprised to see her. She was sat casually on the sill, decrepit legs crossed in front of her, picking loose threads from her fishnet gloves. "It's one of hope," she continued. "A refreshing sight. A rarity in my realm."

"Hela..." Loki steeled himself. "Have you come to gloat over the wounds you have bound me with?"

"Oh, Loki..." She sang, lolling her head to the side to meet his gaze. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

Was not addressing him 'Father' supposed to upset him? She would have to do better than that. "Shall I answer you honestly?"

Hel laughed. "There's some ironic comeback just beyond my reach about you and honesty and Helheim freezing over.

"That's because you haven't fully grown into your old man's wit," Loki quipped. "Perhaps that's the reason for your visit? To gain instruction from my fount of cleverness."

"Instruction you say?" she countered. "Are you giving lessons on how to properly throw your lover under the bus? I'll admit that's one I haven't learned yet."

So it's hardball she wanted to play. "You must first obtain a lover before you can betray them. And given my high standards for approval and your lack of charm, it could take you a while."

"Shows how little you know," Hel defended with an obvious lie. "I've lost count of lovers already, what with all the hottie dark elf boys occupying my realm. They're the best kissers you know. They got those extra long tongues, and—"

"It seems you need instruction in liesmithing more than anything," Loki cut in, shielding his thoughts from the images she was trying to bombard them with. These imagined dark elves should be grateful they don't exist. No being who stuck their tongue down the throat of a Lokisdottir deserved even a cursed reality.

"Okay," Hel played along. "But only if you teach using recent examples, such as the lies you're using to string along your war goddess. Or should I say, my war goddess..."

"Is that the purpose of your visit?" Loki asked coolly. "To remind me of our bargain?" He was suddenly struck by a fear that Hel hadn't come alone.

"Someone give the man a prize."

"I assure you, I have not forgotten." Loki swung his legs over the side if the bed, bare feet planting on the pleasantly cold floor. It hurt to stand up but he did it anyway.

Hel watched him curiously. "Nice pants." He was still wearing simple draw string linens which regrettably only came in shades of white.

"It's funny you should mention The Lady Sif." Loki began taking feeble steps toward the door, keeping a lofty resolve despite his limp. He refused to use the cane Eir left for him. "I was just about to visit her." He pulled the door open and stepped into the hall.

Hel followed him, as predicted, her illusion levitating directly behind him.

"Seeing how," Loki continued calmly. "I could lose her any day to your mother's pettiness, I should really get as much enjoyment out of her as possible."

Hel scoffed in disgust as she drifted up to Loki's side. "I have half a mind to believe you're not putting on a show."

"Then you're only half the fool you appear to be."

Hel blinked, her nose crinkling while she deciphered his meaning, or at least believed she deciphered it. "You're despicably loathsome."

Loki's smirk flattened to a satisfied smile, a flawless performance.

"Was Mother nothing more than a cheap romp under the sheets too?" Hel said, her voice wavering. "I almost feel sorry for this warrior. She knows not the depravity she accepts into her bed."

Loki stopped upon reaching the doors to Sif's bedroom. "Well, here we are." He looked innocently to Hel and gestured at the doors. "Perhaps you would like to inform her personally of my lowly character. But please be advised that I will spare us no modestly simply because you are in the room."

Hel's jaw dropped. "You are sick," she scolded. "Twisted in ways even I can't comprehend."

"I will take that as a compliment." He reached for the door handle. "What will it be daughter, in or out?"

Hel's face became the picture of tragedy. "Through my veins pumps the blood of pure villainy." She made her departure as melodramatically as possible, her illusion distorting as it faded, her words echoing in her sparkling wake.

Loki sighed, his chest sinking while he dropped the act. He found no satisfaction in tricking his daughter, but he had no choice. She couldn't know the extent to which he cared for Sif. He would rather Hel despise the very core of his being than believe Sif's afterlife was a worthwhile bargaining chip. He wanted Angrboda's vengeance directed at him where it should be, not at his lover.

Granted, he still had faith Sif could easily defend herself against any threat, what with the sword now held at his throat.

"Is this how you greet all of your visitors?" Loki asked the sliver of Sif he could see through the cracked door.

Sif exhaled and lowered her sword, opening the door wider. "Why are you talking to yourself outside of my bedroom?" She crossed her arms and leaned into the threshold. "You should be in bed."

He had to play this cool. "I am going stir crazy." That wasn't a lie. "Does it have to be my bed I recover in? Won't any bed suffice so long as I am resting?" Loki smiled.

"You wish to sleep in my bed?" Sif became puzzled. "Did you have a nightmare? Become scared of the dark?"

"Something like that." He raised his brow, suggestively. Seduction was a good enough cover.

Sif eyed him suspiciously, taking in the entirety of him with contemplation. "And what if I refuse?"

Loki flattened his palm to his bandaged chest. "Then I shall return to my quarters, a victim of both insomnia and heartache."

Sif rolled her eyes and snorted, taking his cheesy line for exactly what it was. She then bit back a smile, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I really hate you sometimes," she confessed, opening the door wider to allow him in.

Loki entered, pleased, his eyes scanning her body as he drew closer to it. The slip covering her flesh was whisper thin, merely a tease of modesty as it peaked out from beneath her fur cloak. One might mistake her for a damsel in distress.

"You look lovely," he offered, pulling her closer with a hand to her hip. The silk of the gown may as well been the warmth of her skin. This would be a most pleasurable means of distracting her while he conjured a protective spell to encompass her bedroom.

Sif shut the door with a strong flick of her wrist, then her sword clattered to the floor. She glanced down at his hand on her body before her eyes met his, her head tilting. "Your body hasn't a chance at recovery if you continue along this path."

"We clearly have differing ideas of recovery." His other hand shoved the cloak from her shoulders. It fell into a squash of thick folds at her naked feet.

"Is that how it is going to be?" Sif locked a set of sultry eyes upon him while she loosened the drawstring at his waistband. She then helped the linen's fall from his hips to his ankles, the exposure to the night air an immediate caress to his skin.

He stepped out of his pants, bringing their bodies flush. His hand slid down from her hip over the curve of her form, one of the few areas of her body that wasn't chiseled by lean muscle. He clenched a handful of flesh and fabric. His other hand toyed with the tiny strap of her gown, but it did not displace it.

Sif's breath hitched. She glanced down at their imbalance of modesty. "Aren't you going to retaliate?"

"I like this," Loki said, tracing the gown's neckline with gentle fingers. "I never get to see you this way. You were always fully armored, or not at all."

Loki must have said something right for he suddenly found himself hauled onto her bed, straddled at the hips, and blinded by a kiss surrounded in the curtains of her dark, wavy locks. There would be no secretive spell casting now until she had finished with him, but he was okay with that. Both of their senses were sharp enough to detect a threat, even while bombarded by a wanton ache, pulled from the raw grinding of her dampening heat on his now hardened cock.

His hands dragged up the length of her body, from bare thighs, into the dip of her waist, and over her perfect handfuls of breasts. She moaned into his mouth and rocked her body into his hands, offering herself freely. There was still a layer of silk between them from the waist up and that is how Loki wanted to keep it, the press of hardening nipples into his palm an elegant sensation when veiled by a façade of modesty. It suited her well.

With a strategic lift and angling of her hips, Loki found himself enveloped by her wetness, a slow and clenching massage from tip to base. He threw his head back, making some kind of untamed noise. She attacked his neck and he laughed blissfully. She was amazing, knowing exactly where to scratch, bite and bruise where there hadn't been an injury before. Her breasts only ever grazed the bandage across his chest while her hips seemed intent on devouring him fully.

He ached for her in all of the right ways, his pulse scalding through his wounds and throbbing deep inside of her. The flesh on his thighs became raw from her friction, yet their bodies moved as one. It wasn't long before she ripped a climax from him, his body still too weak to draw out the spiking ascent into momentary nirvana. He heard himself growl as pained pleasure coursed through every tensing muscle and stinging wound.

He then made another noise, drawn out, one of descent. His arms limply wrapped over her back and his fingers roamed through endless falling locks. She cried her own song of release against his mouth, her teeth threatening to claim his upper lip, and then she sank softly into his hold.

Loki's body burned with a life he hadn't felt in years. He hummed, satiated, as he pressed his cheek to her forehead. She had slide to his side and settled their sweaty mess of limbs into a comfortable cuddle, her face nestled into his neck.

"I haven't felt like this since...well, it's been a while." Loki could only confess so much at once, never one to wallow in sentiment. "I wasn't allowed any conjugal visits in my cell."

"It hasn't been that long," Sif teased in a husky voice, muffled by the flesh of his neck. Fortunately she wasn't was one for gushing pillow talk either. "I have no doubts you found some mortals to feed on before you were apprehended."

"When in Rome," Loki replied. "Or in my case, Germany, New York, even New Mexico now that I think about it."

"Why am I not surprised," Sif droned. "I dread to think of the mortal bastards you have left in your wake."

Well then, that was blunt. "I haven't a single one."

"That you know of."

"I am sure of it," Loki said confidently. "Mastery of magic allows one to...control the spread of their legacy." Probably the most sensible spell he ever learned. "That and most of the mortals I bedded were men."

Sif lifted her head to give him an odd look. "You're not joking are you."

Loki smiled, putting his complete lack of regret on display. "You think I am perverse?"

She seemed conflicted. "I probably should..." She then smirked, her eyes scanning hungrily over his mouth and neck. "But am instead getting turned on."

"Oh dear," Loki chuckled. "I regret to say I have not the strength for another go."

Sif tilted her head, her expression softening. "We shall see."

Loki found that response disconcerting. Was it a tease or a warning? He truly had not the strength to take her on again. Fortunately, it seemed he wouldn't have to, for she had settled her head back into his neck.

"What of yourself?" he asked. "Surely this libido has ravished unsuspecting soldiers over the years."

"Yes," she replied lightly, awkwardly. "I got a little here. A little there."

"You are a horrible liar." Loki didn't know whether to laugh or feel pity. He instead yelped, for Sif was now pinching his one exposed nipple.

"And where was I supposed to find time?" she griped. "I am committed to both my duty and my child. I had not the freedoms of a rebellious prince."

He bristled at that. "Do not expect pity from me for raising our child alone. That was your decision, just as it had been my decision to...oh, how did you phrase it, stay in the shadow of my misfortunes?" He wouldn't forgive her for that one, not yet. She had no right comparing her experiences to his own. She was an orphan dropped on the doorstep of serendipity, raised by the ferocious skill of Valkyries, shaping her perfectly into the life she desired. She never had the burden of a shrouded identity.

"I will cut you." Her head lifted again, this time with a glare. "Are we really going to talk about this now?"

"You tell me," he countered.

"No, we are not," she spoke adamantly, not hesitating to claim the control he was handing her. "You will subdue your bitterness. For tomorrow I am going to tell Thor about Ollerus."

He didn't see that one coming. Yet it pleased him to hear it.

Sif continued, softening her tone. "I want to start making arrangements to move him into Gladsheim."

There was a twist forming in Loki's gut, feelings of joy and fear combating each other. "Will I...?"

"Of course," Sif assured. "I will bring him to you first."

Loki could only respond by connecting their lips in raw sincerity, the safest show of gratitude he knew. He cupped her cheek with one hand and drew out the kiss with a passionate hum. Sif accepted his affection at first, yet broke the kiss before he was finished.

"He will not meet you under your pretense of redemption." She spoke only a short distance from his lips, her gaze resolute but her voice pleading. "You too will bring an end to your deception, your actions from here out proving to him and to everyone, what is in your heart."

Loki blinked, silenced by her...faith? Her hope? The undeniable weight of both her body and words that allowed him not an inch of wiggle room? She knew not what she asked of him, for she would never regard him this highly if he revealed all of his secrets, namely the bargain that jeopardized this idealized life she pictured for them.

Which reminded him, he'd better get to work on conjuring the detection spell. It should have been cast already had he not been...distracted. Fortunately, he needed only his mind to cast the spell—he was just that good—freeing his hands and his tongue to respond to her appropriately. "I intend to, Sif." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I truly do. And soon. My son will be granted the truths he deserves. That any child deserves."

His words flowed easily even when his mind was conjuring, just like they had when Thor knelt over him after the battle on Svartalflheim. It was a shame that true nobility repeatedly blinded itself with idealism. It was also a blessing, however, for without hope's naivety, Loki would not be here at this very moment, entwined in a loving tangle of sticky flesh.

He put the finishing touches on the spell. It was designed to alert him when anyone approached Sif's bedroom, and present him with the option to allow the visitor passage or to shock them into paralysis. It was a brilliant design, the same Eir had constructed to protect Ollerus at night. Very few magicians could boast abilities comparable to the great Valkyrie elder's. Hel and Angrboda were truly foolish to think they had a chance against his magic, especially when teamed with Sif's complementary battle prowess.

They would never have her, for she clearly was meant to be his.

"We will make it right," was his lady's response before she captured his lips again.

He purred with a smile, his mind now at ease and letting him fully kiss her back. There was none quite like Sif. She would be both his redemption and his damnation, irresistible honor wrapped in the skin of an untamed beast, hungry for his touch and brave enough for his mysteries. No one desired his mischief quite like she did. For even in love, Sif sought a formidable challenge, a foe worthy of her courage.

And that was why Loki knew he loved her in return.