Taryn sat at the little table, her back to the bed, blankets wrapped tight around her and every light in the room blazing. Exhaustion be damned, she was not going back to bed tonight. She'd thought she could put aside the remembered horrors of Loki's memories and her own flirtation with madness and just sleep.
She'd been very, very wrong.
The first time she'd started to doze, the sneering, monstrous face of the Chitauri chief torturer lunged out of her memories like the beast he was. Bolting upright with a barely muffled scream, it had taken long minutes for her heart to return to something like a normal rhythm. Telling herself that the memories weren't hers didn't help. Reminding herself that the torturer didn't even know she existed didn't help, either. Her body ached with remembered pain and her hands, oh, the hands that her mind insisted had been flayed and shredded now throbbed and burned. She had to keep staring at them to convince herself that they hadn't really been reduced to bloody, tattered bones.
After an hour, she'd convinced herself to try sleep again. This time she concentrated on her favorite painting above her desk at home–a lovely, sunlit meadow filled with a riot of Central Texas wildflowers. A little pond graced the corner of the small meadow. Clouds like a magnificent castle in the air reflected in its perfectly glassy surface. She could look at that painting for hours.
But just as she began to doze off, another memory arose–lying bound to a rough and icy slab, ropes so tight around her ankles and wrists that she'd lost all feeling in her hands and feet-knowing that was a blessing-praying to lose feeling in her abdomen too as the Chitauri sliced and dug and pulled at bits of her never meant to see the light of day–
This time she wasn't able to stifle the scream. Hands flying to her stomach, Taryn sobbed with relief to find herself whole.
That was when she'd abandoned the bed, turned on every light in the room, and gone to sit at the table. Without coffee or books or any way to distract herself, she began softly reciting the legends of Celtic deities, starting with her favorite, the goddess Bride. It passed the time. She wasn't sure how long she sat motionless in the straight-backed chair–that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was staying awake and keeping the nightmares at bay.
But even there, exhaustion had started to overtake her and her head had drooped. But this time, instead of horrific remembrances of torture, Loki's kiss arose in her memory to haunt her.
That kiss… she'd never experienced anything like it. Desperate, hungry, overwhelming–he kissed like she was as necessary to his existence as food or air. She'd been utterly blown away, unable to do more than cling to him, fists tight in the material of his jacket, unable even to remember to push him away.
But then his lips had gentled. No longer demanding, now Loki seduced. His hands cupped her face so gently as he caressed her mouth with his, tongue dancing, teasing, savoring. Taryn had realized she was kissing him back a split second before he'd pulled away and looked down at her with something very like wonder, or perhaps worship.
"The visions were true," Loki had breathed, one hand now in her hair, cradling her head in his palm, fingers restlessly caressing her scalp. "You still the chaos…" And then he'd kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, and she'd been so swept away by the unexpectedness of it all that she hadn't even been able to work up any embarrassment at the little gasps and whimpers he drew from her.
She dragged herself back to wakefulness with a hard shake of her head. Those kisses, allowing him to kiss her like that, had been a mistake of colossal proportions. He was her captor, not her boyfriend! At least she'd finally gathered enough of her wits to push him away, but it had taken far too long to do so. And he'd smiled at her with such satisfaction when she had as if he knew full well the battle it had been. Taryn had to get her mind back in order before she did something else monumentally stupid.
When the knock came at her door–soft, almost tentative–Taryn nearly jumped out of her skin. She instinctively looked at her wrist, forgetting that her watch was long gone. What time was it? Was it morning? No, surely not–she hadn't been awake for hours. She'd only gotten through a quarter of the Celtic pantheon.
In the end, though, did it matter what time it was? She didn't want to sleep and she had no illusions that talking to herself would stave off the Sandman. Dr. Selvig had mentioned coming to see her and comparing notes on Norse mythology, especially the Rainbow Bridge. Perhaps he was here now. Normally she wouldn't even consider letting a man she barely knew into her bedroom in the middle of the night, but Selvig had that blue-light haze over his eyes that meant Loki controlled him utterly. He wouldn't hurt her. She stood and crossed stiffly to the door.
But it wasn't the older man who waited on the other side. It was Loki.
Taryn stared at him for a moment, taken aback. He smiled at her but it wasn't his usual confident expression, and his face was pale with dark circles beneath his eyes. "My apologies for waking you," he said, the smile fading. "May I… may I trouble you for a moment?"
She hesitated only a moment before nodding. After all, she already had evidence that he could come and go as he pleased from anywhere at all–she wouldn't soon forget his instant arrival when she'd been ill–and from what she'd seen in his mind, he wouldn't hurt her, either. And she certainly wasn't going to fall asleep with him here! "What can I do for you?" she asked when he was inside and the door closed behind him.
He looked at her for a moment, then turned toward the nearest painting without answering. He leaned closer as if examining it and Taryn suddenly realized he was actually nervous. It was a word she would never have applied to the god before this moment. "Loki?" she prompted, her own voice now hesitant. Worry for him filled her, but she still didn't quite trust its source. She'd read about Stockholm Syndrome, after all, and all the memories he'd injected into her mind hadn't left her anything like clearheaded when it came to him–not to mention those kisses that had short-circuited her brain just as effectively as the scepter. Even so, she couldn't help adding, "Are you all right?"
He touched the painting's frame, tracing a swirl of the gilded wood with one elegant finger. "Yes, I… I am… No, actually. I…" He abruptly clenched his fist with a growl of frustration. "I am tired, Taryn. Merely tired."
"You should sleep," she replied, frowning a little because he didn't look merely tired. He looked the kind of exhausted that made people collapse and spend weeks in the hospital… but of course, he wasn't people. The normal rules might not apply to him. Still, the strain and fatigue etched on his face couldn't be good, even for a god.
And it looked eerily similar to what she'd seen in the mirror last time she'd looked.
"Sleep," he whispered on a little huff of a laugh. The painting reclaimed his attention and he stared hard at it as though vital secrets were concealed within its brushstrokes. "I want… I would very much like to sleep," he murmured after a moment. "But I… it is not so simple."
Her frown deepened when his voice trailed off again. She had never heard him sound so unsure, not in any of their previous interactions, nor in any of the memories he'd shown her–and speaking of memories, she was pretty sure she knew exactly what happened when he tried to sleep. "When was the last time you slept?" she asked softly, but she didn't step closer to him.
Loki reached out to the painting again, this time meticulously following the arch of a tree branch. When he reached the trunk, he traced the next branch, and the next after that, one fingertip just skimming over each line of the tree. "Before the Chitauri," he answered just when she had decided he wasn't going to. "Before the fall. Before Thor returned, before Laufey's death. Before… before the madness." He moved on to the next tree and she saw that his hand was shaking. "It returns to me when I close my eyes. There have been times of unconsciousness, but true rest has eluded me."
Taryn shook off a sudden flash of the Chitauri chief torturer's face. Oh yes, she knew exactly what he meant, and she took a step toward him without intending to. He turned to face her before she could take it back or school her features away from aching understanding. He also took a step, halving the distance between them. Now he was close, uncomfortably so, but his gaze caught her and the need in it froze her in place. "What I told you earlier was the truth," he said, and although his hand twitched as if he would reach out to her, he didn't. "You calm the madness, quiet the chaos. I came… I came to ask…" He took a deep breath, then went on, "I came to ask if you would allow me to stay, just for one night."
Taryn gasped. Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been that. She shook her head and started to step back. "Loki–"
But now Loki did reach out, clasping her hands as if to forestall her refusal. "Not your body," he interrupted, speaking quickly now. "I know it is too soon for that and I meant what I said when I told you it is your choice I want. Only let me share your bed tonight, Taryn–I give you my word, that is all I ask of you. Merely let me lie beside you and sleep. I want… I need you, the peace you bring. Chase away the shadows for one night." He stopped, swallowed hard, and finally, not quite meeting her eyes, he whispered, "Please."
And she was willing to bet that wasn't a word Loki said often. That, and his clear need, were enough to crack through her defenses. "All right," she whispered, wondering if she was insane to allow him to talk her into this but still unable to turn him away when he was so clearly suffering.
Loki's smile shone bright as the sun and she realized that he'd fully expected her to say no–had expected it, and still his need had driven him to ask. "Thank you," he murmured, lifting her hand and brushing a feather-light kiss into her palm. She nodded, unable to reply past the lump in her throat.
A green shimmer washed over him and left him clothed only in soft linen pants, the leather and metal armor vanishing to nowhere. For a moment her gaze got caught on his bare chest and arms and refused to move away. Tall and slender as he was, she hadn't expected him to be muscular, but his body bore the evidence of centuries spent training for and fighting battles. Each muscle was defined, not overlarge, but tight and strong. No hair marred his chest or his washboard stomach. His arms rippled with the slightest movement. Taryn swallowed hard.
"Should you wish to share more than just your bed," Loki murmured after a long moment, voice low and dark and saturated with promise, "merely keep looking at me like that, Taryn. You look at me as though you would eat me alive."
Another memory rose from that single good life, this one starkly erotic–kisses in the shadows, hands everywhere, stealing caresses, arriving in opulent chambers that neither of them cared about in the least, and Loki saying in a voice hoarse with need, "You look at me as though you would eat me alive."
And feeling his thrill, his awe and near desperate desire when the Taryn in his memories gave him a wickedly sensual smile and murmured, "What a good idea," and went to her knees before him…
Taryn didn't realize she'd whispered those words aloud until Loki's green eyes flared with need and his breath caught. She felt her cheeks go fiery red and quickly turned away. "Sleep," she blurted, ignoring his soft chuckle and retreating to the bathroom, mortified that she'd been all but drooling over his bare skin. "That's all. Sleep."
"As you wish," he sighed, and then she shut the door behind her and pressed a hand to her chest as if that could still her pounding heart.
Not likely. She'd just agreed to spend the entire night lying in bed beside her kidnapper, an actual god, not to mention a man who kissed her like she was the only thing on the planet that mattered and who incidentally had the most perfect, lickable body she'd ever seen. A body that would be mere inches from hers, all night long, and she had to be insane.
And memories like the one she'd just discovered didn't help in the least. If that other life was any indication, she and Loki would be volcanically, explosively compatible in bed–and those kisses had left no doubt in her mind that the other life wasn't mistaken. Not going to think about it! she ordered herself, face going even redder.
But it was like telling someone not to think of a purple elephant. The more she tried to distract herself, the more that his memory–God, he'd lost control, had fallen to the floor in his desperation to get inside her, and oh her mouth open and hot and incredible beneath his, her body so soft and welcoming, her hands in his hair and her thighs strong around his waist–tormented her with visions of the bliss that could await if she dared to give him more than a temporary haven from nightmares in her bed.
Forcing the vision away, Taryn used the bathroom, brushed her teeth again, and changed into a more substantial set of pajamas–a thick flannel top and pants instead of the short satin gown she'd worn before, as if that would be any kind of barrier to a man who could banish clothing with a thought. But she couldn't hide out in here all night. She closed her eyes for a moment and then forced herself to open the door and face him once more.
Loki stood just where she'd left him, looking every bit as delectable as before. She bit her lip but made her feet move and walked to the bed. "I hope you don't snore," she said just to fill the silence. There was something incredibly intimate about getting into bed with him, more so than if he'd already been lying there and she'd just joined him, although she couldn't say why.
He smiled and drew the blankets aside. "I would never," he said, gesturing for her to precede him into bed.
Taryn hesitated only a moment before sliding between the sheets. The lights went out as the bed dipped behind her with his weight and she knew he'd used magic to extinguish them. The heavy blanket settled over her–the God of Mischief and Evil tucking her in, she thought with a hysterical mental giggle–and she felt his movements as he made himself comfortable, but she couldn't do the same. She was wound tight as a bowstring.
"May I hold you?" Loki murmured after a moment, making her jump. When she didn't answer at once, he said, "The closer I am to you, the more it helps."
Playing on her sympathy, or telling the truth? There was no way to know. God of lies! she reminded herself, but her muscles were already beginning to ache with tension and she just didn't have the energy to fight anymore tonight. "If you want," she whispered, and an instant later, his arms went around her and drew her to his side. She didn't resist and soon found herself tucked securely into the shelter of his body, her back to his chest, his arms snug around her, his breath tickling her ear, and she heard his contented sigh.
"Thank you," he whispered, and she shivered at the brush of his lips over her sensitive ear. Then, as if noticing the effect that had on her, Loki did it again–lips purposefully caressing her ear as he asked, "Goodnight kiss?"
Damn him for bringing those kisses up again! But she wasn't quite that insane yet. The thought of lying here in the dark with him, wrapped in his arms with that wickedly talented mouth on hers kissing the brain right out of her head–oh, she had to banish that idea right now. "Don't push your luck," she said, and wished she'd sounded more tart and less breathless when he laughed softly.
"Darling, I always push my luck."
But he said nothing more, and when his breathing evened out, slow and deep, Taryn's own body began to relax. Much as she hated to admit it, being held in Loki's arms was deeply comforting. To her surprise she also dozed off almost immediately, and didn't dream at all.
.
Who recognizes the scene in the painting? ^_^
