Sorry I haven't updated in a week, work has been hell. Anyways enjoy the chapter! But seriously though, review! I can't say it enough review, review, review and tell me what you think! Shout out to my regular reviewers, I love you guys.

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Chapter 5

Henry moved into a flat in the heart of the upper crust of Cork City, a good drive from her place but luckily she had a modest motorcycle. The tax was way more affordable than a car, not to mention she had enough sessions with her dad to know how to maintain it. She was quite proud of it, it was used but she fixed it up good and her dad gladly sent over engine parts demanding her to stream the internal parts on Skype. It was the only time he pushed Van aside for her, thinking she was going to become a motorcycle enthusiast overnight. It was nice for a moment being on the same page with her dad, sharing something, no matter how fleeting.

Henry claimed he had things to arrange in his new place, so she couldn't come over. Now, that it was settled it was her first time, seeing the completed place. She wondered how a researcher could afford such a swank place, he did say his area of expertise was Norse Mythology. She tried not to comment on it when they were sex friends, now as his girlfriend it nagged her. So she made a loose observation of the place.

"The fruits of some investments I made as a boy. You could say I had to reply on myself, from a very young age."

"Oh," she accepted the explanation. She had some money of her own her family had no idea about. During her college years, she took on various jobs for one night. "I like it, it's very... rustic meets modern."

The walls were maroon red, the floors glossy tiles that were patterned to look like wood, there were brick pillars dividing the main room from the kitchen, the furniture was leather, wood and steel. The place dripped chic testosterone. Raven liked it, but the size made her uneasy, how did he even afford this. The place was hardly a flat, more of a condo, or a penthouse by size, and the deco was so personalized.

"I love the bold color of the walls," she complimented, trying not to think about Henry's bank account. "Did you pick it out yourself?"

"You could say I did." He was behind her, hands on her arms, "It does have an alluring appeal, doesn't it?"

"A very stylish man cave," she agreed. "You're not much of a painting guy are you?"

"You want to decorate it now?" He chuckled.

"I mean, you should have something equally eye catching on your wall. To scare any house guests," she added gleefully.

Henry smiled, "Aren't you mischievous. Is that what your dog's purpose is? A fearsome German Shepherd? Or Brogan?" He added making her laugh.

"Oh no, I adore her. If I had my way I would have bought an Akita Inu, but he needs more time which I can't always give if I have to leave town. And Brogan would be terrified by it. She loves Clover and has no problem taking care of her while I'm gone." She leaned back into him, "We should celebrate... I have an idea," she went to her bag pulling out her iPod, "can you dance?"

"Dance?" He repeated expecting a more active christening of his new home. "You want to dance?"

"A place is never yours until you take off your shoes and dance all across the floor," she insisted. When she and Brogan first moved into their flat they pranced about the place to eighties pop songs, dancing on the couch and beds. She put on a slow song, "Come on," she beckoned.

"I don't dance," Henry said with a soft yet stern smile.

Raven huffed impatiently as Mattafix echoed through the house, Henry had to lighten up, so she decided to take matters into her own hands. Letting the playlist play, she began to stalk Henry. He had retreated away from her and she followed tapping his shoulder to get his attention, then she grabbed his hands pulling him close.

"Raven," there was a warning in his voice but she ignored it.

"Just hold on to me," she put his hands on her hips. "If you stopped fighting me, you may even have some fun."

Henry sighed reluctant to comply, Raven hushed him urging him to slowly step and sway with her. He was resistant at first, but he went along with it realizing it was inevitable, and she coming closer and closer. But then to song changed and Henry gave her such a glare thinking he was going to have to dance to Sean Paul, no matter how slow it was. She ignored him wrapping her hands around his neck, and letting her hips keep his attention.

And it did.

She turned around pulling his hands around her waist, as her hips moved salaciously against him. He held her close not wanting her to stop but she pulled holding him away as far as their joint arm span allowed, then she danced back to him, hips swishing as she came to him. Henry was watching her like he had never seen any girl dance like this. It was cute because it meant he was probably the whitest guy in the world. She was dancing quite tame to what other girls did. She kissed him once they were close again, but she didn't let it get to deep. Just like that the song changed to an old Shakira song, a slow one. She put his hands on her hips letting him feel the steady exaggerated twists and shakes.

His grip squeezed and released, Raven gave him a vixen stare letting figure out the unconnected dots himself. She spun to back him letting him get more intimately acquainted with her hips, she felt his lips on her neck, his hands holding her waist, the growing heat but she didn't stop moving. Not until he spun her around and gave the kiss he wanted to give her since he got wise to her game.

She let him have the kiss. She ran her hands down his back, egging him to come closer, egging him to grab her, egging him to let that elegant facade crumble.

"You're trying to seduce me," he said against her lips.

She missed the danger in his tone, and playfully said, "I do love a smart man. I want to do a different dance now though."

Nina Simone came on, I Put A Spell On You. How fitting.

"Come on slick," she cooed, "put a spell on me."

He curled a finger around her chin, tilting her head up ever so gently. His eyes had became darker, no less electric but they simmered floating over her face. "Careful what you wish for."

With a wicked grin Raven wondered, "Is that a challenge to wish bigger?"

Sporting a similar grin he ran a finger along her red lip, "Oh I like you."

"Well thank heaven," she remarked with a flamboyant eye roll. "But seriously... bedroom or couch?"

I'm glad I'm keeping you alive for now, he ran a finger up her thigh as she caught her breath. You are too fascinating. Loki was caught off guard by her impromptu seduction, he didn't like being caught off guard but the results might change his mind. Such an insatiable little thing, aren't you? Loki couldn't recall the last time a woman got him on his back, a little fight in his bed, light biting and scratching. He liked Raven Stark, she was definitely worth some effort.

As if hearing the hum of his inner monologue Raven roused, turning to face him. "That was nice," she stretched, joints popping.

"If every dance leads to this, I'll be more open to the idea."

"You idiot," she affectionately admonished. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," he admitted rising reluctantly. "Shall we order something?"

"Actually, how about I make something? How does pasta with marinara sauce sound?"

Loki wasn't sure he had the ingredients for her recipe. He had some items in the fridge for the sake of appearing normal. Basic things.

"I don't think I have everything."

"Well then, let's have a look." Walking over her clothes Raven Stark rose and walked out his bedroom, nude as a creature from an elvish fable to his kitchen.

Her self confidence was a thing to behold. Midgardian we such contradictory things, almost conservative with their bodies. Raven in his kitchen, was a sight. The bright colored dragon in the center of her back, the curved symbols on her nape of her neck, the sun coupled with the moon and night sky on her foot. They somehow beckoned him to follow the girl as she searched his kitchen for ingredients. He could easily take her again, but it may raise questions and suspicions, he may do so before she left, just for the fight, the rough playfulness. Most noble women didn't partake in rough trysts, while you had to tell a whore you were going to treat her coarsely, if you cared enough to tell her. It was nice to have a woman who didn't mind a little pain with her pleasure.

"You have mostly everything," Raven reported. "Let's see... it's about three, and my cello and outfit are already here with me, so I can cook, shower and then go off to work. Sound good for you?" She turned to him.

He nodded, "I can deal with that. But, can I ask you a personal question, that scar on your chest where did you get it?"

Raven stared down at the faint pink line going down her chest. "Oh this? It's a heart transplant scar. I was born with a hole in my heart, by the time I was seven I had heart failure because the hole had expanded and the pumps in my heart weren't working right. So they cut me open, and put a new heart in me."

Loki narrowed his eyes, she was sick, and Stark still leaves her unprotected. The idea of a tiny child being cut open and having an organ replaced sounded barbaric to him. And Midgardians thought they were superior.

"And it's... better now?"

"Well," she shrugged, "it's as good as I'm gonna get. I mean the donor was a thirty something old man, I think, and it's been sixteen years, I may be due for another transplant in the near future and I'll be on medication for the rest of my life, but hey, not dead." She saw his confusion about her medication. "Oh you don't know about that. You see when you transplant an organ, your body knows it's not yours and it tries to reject it using antibodies and all those guys. So everyday I need to take this cocktail of medicine to tell my body not to reject my heart, and in my case it's a big deal since my body fought for days trying to reject this heart. I had to spend six months indoors to recover, I had these huge stitches all along my chest for weeks."

"You said you may need another transplant?"

"Well I might, it's common depending on the condition of the heart you get. I've accepted it a long time ago, how fleeting life is and all those sob stories. All you can do is live and have fun. You live, you laugh, you cry, you die."

"Well said... Are you going to cook naked?" He wondered. "Not that I mind, of course, it's a stunning view."

She laughed, "You really think you're going to be watching? Put on some boxers pretty boy, you're helping."

Loki knew had to play along to get close to her. Show kindness before he struck, it was a necessary chore. Though he couldn't deny the opportunity it presented.

"I heard your father retired from hero work, must be difficult for such an active man."

It had been that long, they all had aged and some may have even died. The idea of Stark hanging up his armor made him grin, the man who dared to challenge him, now too old to fight anymore. I could kill him in his sleep, he was helpless in his home with his little wife, and son. Loki was an agent of chaos and mischief, nothing would please him more than to pounce on his lame enemies, reminding them of who he truly was. Let them bask in their cherished glory, I have new plans for you all.

"We can't stay young forever besides, he has his company, if anything that'll keep him occupied."

She was wary to discuss her father with Loki, wise choice. He liked playing this game, because she didn't trust him. Not enough to divulge secrets, yet she had no care letting him into her bed. He had to parade a dance to get to her, a bizarre challenge he wanted to meet.

"And your mother, how does she -"

"She's dead," stated Raven, a sharp cord in the mellow mood. "She's been dead since I was four."

Loki glanced at her as she inspected the penne pasta, her face was obscured by her bangs but he saw the boiling tension, the locking on her jaw and the coil of her fingers on the counter edge. A contained earthquake. She still mourned her mother, how sentimental, he barely recalled life when he was that small and his memory was much better than hers. He doubted Raven even remembered her mother, and rather was mourning her absence then her person. His mind went to Frigga, who pleaded the All-Father to spare him and died protecting Thor's precious then-mortal. Her death was their fault. A waste.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

She smiled at him, you should have been an actress instead of a cellist Raven. "It's fine, you didn't know."

Loki knew nothing of the prestige of cellist, but from what he heard, Raven was a celestial gift to the industry. He spied in on her performances gathering information about this bizarre girl. She was a genius yet Shield paid her no heed. Was it because of her preferred industry? To him intelligence was intelligence, if her mind could grasp an instrument it could grasp mathematics and science. Even her playing was wild, although her hair slicked down and behind her ears, there was a sense of abandon when she played. Serenity and passion. Chaos and order. She was quite young for the field she was in, yet there was no envy against her from others, there was worship.

They all wanted to be like her. The confidence of her self and her instrument, her second nature skill as though it was bred into her, the way she and the cello were one. There was something graceful about how her fingers moved along the neck of the cello, nimble and adept. How she could close her eyes and see the piece behind her eyes. They all wanted what she had.

She was no scientist, nor an engineer, but Raven Stark had a mind to be respected. She was eloquent, articulate and clever. Anyone who kept him this intrigued had to be worthy of his intellect. All the world saw was the artist, a nymph from a fable. Something delicate and expendable. But she had keys to secrets and the mind to hide them. Daring and untamable.

Was Stark proud of her? Or was he secretly disappointed by her humble life? Loki wondered if Thor was close with her, it would make this all the sweeter. Touching her, knowing she was someone Thor cherished. Getting under their skin, through a single girl. A girl that fell right into his lap like the Norns were looking down at him.

He wondered if the All-Father was aware of the treachery he acted upon him. It was something he never got to see. Knowing he could have slaughtered the King of Asgard due to his slack observations. Blood was hardly his preferred area, he desired the unnerving fear that cut deeper than wounds, though he could think of a few who deserved wounds.

He had yet to decide if Raven was a wound he might need.