Thank you so much for all the love & support throughout the last year. I just wanted to make a quick note (that will appear on all WIP updates, so everyone has the chance to read it) about how I've organized the updates. Aside from Love Like Blood (which I'd finished & completed posting before moving onto the other updates so the story is complete & out of the way), the updates will be posted in the order of furthest back date of 'last update' to most recent.

I know some of you are really anxious for updates on specific fics & would like to ask for your continued patience as I move through this process. Literally every open fic in my story list has an update ready to go, so whatever story you've been waiting for will have a new chapter in the coming days/weeks.


Chapter Five

Antics & Vulnerabilities

A few times Hermione awoke during the night. Each time, she opened sleep-bleary eyes, glanced about, and snuggled back down into the immeasurably comfortable warmth of the bed and drifted back into slumber. Clearly she was dreaming, she'd thought in her half-asleep brain.

It had to be that. Something her overwrought mind had drummed up for comfort, the events of last 24 hours temporarily forgotten. The last time she'd slept in close quarters with members of the opposite gender, well, it had been Harry and Ron, still teenage boys, and they'd all been in separate cots. Here she'd apparently dreamed up two utterly gorgeous grown men, and they were all cuddled up together like kittens seeking body heat.

Awaking now, to the sense of daylight pressing on the backs of her eyelids, she only squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, burrowing her face against some warm, solid blockage crowded close before her on the bed.

She didn't want to open her eyes, not as those memories finally began flooding back into her head and she realized where she was. Especially not as said memories informed her that these grown men giving her sleepy kitten cuddles were not in fact figments of her imagination.

No, she absolutely did not want to return to reality just now. Hermione wanted nothing more than to let herself drift back to sleep and pretend her life had always been this sweetly comfortable.

But then she also remembered her recognition of the castle's response to her magic, which had led to troubling ruminations on what Beilor's motives might've been for setting this all in motion.

This all being a situation that had led her to spending the night curled up in bed with two annoyingly beautiful alien god-men.

Reluctantly, Hermione lifted her head from the warm shape blocking the sun from her face, her cheek still pressed into the pillow. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.

And immediately cursed that she'd forgotten how painfully pretty Loki was. To add to her troubles, it appeared Loki, as well, was not one to sleep in his armor. Though he wasn't nearly as … intimidating in physique as his brother, the bizarre, needlessly aesthetically pleasing smallclothes he wore showed off long, lean lines of pale, perfectly sculpted muscle.

She could've sworn that when he'd entered the room, he'd been in something like a dressing gown. Oh, but then he'd probably shrugged it off and tossed it aside sometime during the night.

Of course it had been his chest she'd burrowed her face against to ignore the light of day. However, that wasn't the part of all this that had her heart suddenly hammering against her ribcage even as a shock of warmth shot through her at a new realization.

As Loki—whom she'd thought was still asleep as he lay turned toward her—cracked open one eye and mouthed shh at her, a half-grin curving his lips before that eye closed again, she became unavoidably cognizant of the warmth curved around her. Cognizant of the strong form pressing unfortunately, yet at the same time delightfully, close at her back.

Of the thickly muscled arm looped protectively around her waist.

Her hammering heart seemed to still as the awareness of her position—of theirs—caused a sweet, pooling warmth low in her body in spite of herself. Purely … purely reactionary that was, she forced the words through her mind, even as she reminded herself to breathe.

Hermione tilted her head, her gaze tracing over the arm holding her before she returned her attention to Loki's face. Bastard was still feigning sleep.

Did he think something was going to happen and he was simply waiting? Or was he privately enjoying her current state of uncertainty?

Perfectly aware either could absolutely be the case, or that it could actually be a bit of both—god of mischief, and all—she decided whatever it was, she'd not give him the satisfaction just now.

Oh, surely there was no actual harm in … getting involved with either of them …. Or both of them, after all, they were both so warm and sturdy and fit and after so long of being alone and interminably lonely—wait, where had she been going with this?

Right, right. Logical reasons for disentangling herself from them right now. Getting involved with either of them—or both of them, as the strength of the body holding hers and the exquisite perfection of the face in front of her were both equally difficult to ignore—wasn't outside the realm of possibility, and given that she had nothing on Earth to go back to, and was stuck with them anyway for the foreseeable future, but it wasn't anything that couldn't wait.

And perhaps something that could cloud more important issues at the moment.

Issues like the castle responding to Midgardian magic and what that might mean.

She could get back to this … other question now looming over her head later. After all, she was rather certain that had either of them someone waiting for them back home, so to speak, Thor wouldn't have so thoughtlessly invited her into his bed, wholly innocent circumstance at the time notwithstanding. He seemed the sort to at least bring it up before telling her to shut it, crawl under the covers, and get some sleep—it had been in that order, after all.

Although Loki … well, he might not have mentioned any such thing himself, but she imagined his brother would've been more than happy to remind him. If only to ruin Loki's fun.

She wasn't going to add into this the question of whether or not Thor had just been too tired to care right then.

Her features pinching in a cringe—even as her body and, admittedly, part of her mind screamed at her to stay shut and follow Loki's lead by pretending to sleep a while longer—she said gently, "Thor?"

She also wasn't going to add into this that their entire situation just might be skewing her sensibilities if she was considering following the God of Mischief's lead on anything.

When the golden-haired man didn't so much as flutter an eyelash, she tried again. Gripping her hands in a delicate hold around the arm at her waist, she lightly jostled the limb and said a little more clearly, "Thor?"

The God of Thunder muttered something entirely unintelligible—she suspected he still hadn't woken up at all. The arm at her waist tightened around her, pulling her flush against his body. He burrowed his face beneath her hair, nuzzling the spot between where her neck met her shoulder before his movements ceased.

Held there, and having to try only harder to ignore the way her body was reacting to his now very much too-close embrace—dear Lord, why could she not just shut down her brain and let herself enjoy being held like this?—she turned wide eyes on Loki. His guise of sleep was slipping away, those thin but perfect lips curved downward at the corners, very much the look of someone holding in a laugh.

Her expression hardening into a scowl, she snapped in a hissing whisper, "Loki!"

Giving into a grin, those wicked green eyes opened and he shifted a bit to raise up on his elbow. Propping his chin against his fist, he stared down at the witch.

"Suppose I should've warned you my brother's an exceptionally, mortifyingly deep sleeper. Well, when he's comfortable, that is."

She felt herself sag against the too-soft mattress just a bit. "What's that mean?"

That grin melting down into a smirk, he reached out his free hand. The motion was tentative as he traced a fingertip along the top of her nightdress. As though he expected her to slap away his hand.

She didn't, merely lowering her gaze to watch the movement. Why wasn't she slapping his hand away, she wondered—since Thor's deep slumber and decisive hold made simply pulling away not an option.

Oh, right, she considered as she brought her attention back to Loki's face; he, too, was watching the trailing of his finger over her. Because this felt nice. All of it. The whole bloody thing. And after so long, after so much hardship and strain and struggle, it had felt doubly nice.

To be held securely.

To be touched gently.

To have slept for once in she honestly couldn't remember how long without the fear of being awakened by a compromised ward telling her she needed to jump up and run.

At last lifting his eyes to meet hers, Loki answered, "It means precisely as it sounds. My brother is a warrior. Warriors are not given to sleeping soundly—well, unless they're drunk after celebrating a victorious battle, which is rather a common occurrence with Asgardians, I'm afraid—because battles have taught them to sleep deeply is to invite attack."

Something must've sparked in her expression at his words, she realized, because Loki gave a nod. "I see you know something of what I speak."

Swallowing hard, she blinked once, twice. "Something of it, yes."

"Then you understand." Loki nodded, that gentle fingertip still moving along her skin just above the line of fabric. "Thor, stone—cold sober—"

"He downed an entire bottle of wine by himself like it was water before we all turned in."

Loki snickered. "You think that'd do anything to him? You're adorable. It'd take him five to get mildly inebriated."

Hermione winced, only causing him to chuckle.

"Well, my point was Thor, not drunk, does not typically sleep deeply like this. Not unless he feels safe." Loki arched a brow, the resulting look suggestive. "Not unless he has reason to be all right letting himself be vulnerable."

"And he'd allow that with you in such close proximity?"

Uttering another snicker, he drew his finger away from his current preoccupation just long enough to tap her on the tip of her nose. "Adorable," he repeated and then went back to his idle tracing of her skin. "He knows perfectly well I don't mean to kill him with my antics." Leaning close, he brought his mouth to her ear and dropped his voice lower, still, the resulting tone a silky, purring whisper. "He and I both know that if I did, I'd try much harder."

Her eyes drifted closed at the way his breath ghosted across her throat. At the way his lips nearly—nearly—brushed her ear.

She barely had the presence of mind to collect herself before he pulled back to look at her. He resumed his casual lounging posture, his gaze on her face once more.

When her expression only showed a stubborn lack of comprehension regarding what he'd been getting at, Loki sighed heavily. He was perfectly aware she wasn't dense. Quite the contrary, she was deliberately refusing to understand.

Pinching tiredly between his brows, he shook his head. "Let me think. What is the Midgardian way of … oh, yes." Dropping his hand back to her once more, Loki granted her a wink as he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "He fancies you."

Hermione felt her eyes pop wide as she stared back at him. All right, so those things she couldn't help thinking yet understood she shouldn't be thinking at the moment were becoming increasingly more plausible as this discussion went on.

"We … we only just met." Her voice tumbled out low and a bit trembly, a feigned confusion, he thought.

"Ah, yes." He rested the tip of one finger over the center of her sternum. "But consider how we met. Flinging yourself from the from that ledge and hoping someone would catch you. Not a certainty," he explained carefully, his gaze intent on hers, "a hope. That sort of bravery speaks directly to the heart of any true warrior."

She couldn't deny that she was aware of precisely what he meant, but the words that tumbled from her lips next just might have been a mistake, she realized a moment after they fell from her lips.

"Oh? What is it about me that speaks to your heart, then?"

They were both completely cognizant of his finger staying right there as he smirked. "Are you saying I'm not a warrior, then?"

"I'm saying I'm sure you are when you choose to be, and I'm also sure you're more than capable when you need to be. But it's not in the same way you speak of your brother being one."

That smirking mouth curved downward for a split second in a thoughtful frown before his mirthful expression returned. "That's fair. And I suppose, for me it's that … you and I are more similar than you'd like to believe." At her questioning look in response, he went on, "There's a certain darkness in you. A willingness to do whatever is necessary to survive as long as it means not giving in."

He wasn't wrong, but still that begged the question. "Giving into what?"

Loki shrugged, finally trailing his finger away from that spot between her breasts only to dragged it slowly upward instead. Along her throat, over her chin, and coming to a pause at her lips. "Whatever it is that is demands you to change. To become not you. That certainly speaks to me." He lowered his gaze to her mouth as his fingertip tickled delicately against the curve of her bottom lip. "Only …."

Hermione's breath stilled, every inch of her entirely, painfully, aware of his touch. Of Thor's continued embrace—Thor who was still slumbering peaceful, if his warm, steady breath against her other ear was any indication.

"Only?" she echoed, unable to help herself.

Loki's gaze snapped up, locking on hers as he said in that silky, purring whisper, "Whoever said you were speaking to my heart?"