It's been a bit glitchy with uploading new chapters, so fingers crossed all this actually works. Onward!

The air in the room was thick, and Loki could actually feel a headache starting between his eyes. Still, he showed no sign of the physical effect that Franklin's power had over him—he'd lose his stance then, and all that he had spent the last hour working toward would be for naught. Still, the boy must have been able to feel it too. Ever since it was clear that Loki was going to be the winner of their game, the room had become stifling. Max seemed unaffected by it: she thumbed through a paperback on the nearby couch, eyebrows slightly creased, and paid neither of them any attention. His eyes flickered over to her as Franklin contemplated his next move, but she seemed completely absorbed in her book.

They had moved the lesson up to the spare sitting room on the top floor of the tower. Valeria proved to be too much of a distraction earlier, and Loki needed Franklin's sole concentration if his lessons were to have any meaning. So, they packed up the chessboard, and Max gave Franklin a free ride on her back to the top of the tower while Loki juggled everything else. She was positively spent when they finally tackled the stairs, and he listened to her heaving breaths long after the chess match resumed.

Reed had been in possession of four Pagurolids since the previous day, and thus far, no one had heard much on his progress. From what Max needled out of the Spider at breakfast that morning, he gathered that Reed was running various tests on the creatures while his woman brewed the serum. The Spider had seemed exhausted when he spoke earlier, and Max hadn't pressed him for much, but Loki could hear the strain in her voice. Just as he was eager for the glory that this cure would bring upon him, Max wanted results—she wanted her home rid of the Pagurolids for good. She was foolish to expect Reed and Sue to work quickly: after all, it had taken them a month to do anything at all, and now she thought they would be out fighting in a matter of hours?

No. He understood their need for perfection, and he was content to sit back and let them work through the difficulties—his task was done.

Franklin reached forward suddenly and used his knight to take Loki's bishop, a small smile on his lips as he removed the black piece from the board. Lips pursed, Loki kept his expression bored, and then willed his queen to take down the wandering knight, his hands resting on his lap. The tension in the air surged, and he closed his eyes for a moment, temporarily easing the throbbing behind his eyes. When he opened them, he stared down at the boy—what was he? It wasn't magic: he'd never been able to feel magic like this before.

"That was a cheap shot," the boy muttered, his hands gripping the corners of the small table that they played upon. He spied Max glance up out of the corner of his eye, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Yours was an obvious play," he drawled. "How do you feel?"

The tightness of the boy's lips was an obvious indicator, but Loki wanted him to be aware of the feelings as they were happening. It might have been too great a task for a child, but it was a necessary step to controlling his power.

"Frustrated."

"Good." He closed his eyes again, and then let out a soft puff of air. "I want you to try to move your next piece without touching it."

And then it was gone. The thickness dissipated, the throbbing stopped, and Loki's eyes snapped open. It was his mistake—not Franklin's—that broke the spell, and he sighed heavily. At that, Max sat up and set her book aside, then stretched languidly, her joints cracking.

Their eyes met for a moment, but he focused his attention on Franklin immediately after, not wanting to get distracted.

He'd almost left her. In the heat of his anger, he had threatened to leave, and hours later, he realized he would have sulked in the aftermath. At the time, he had been so angry that she ignored him, that she couldn't be bothered to heed warranted advice. She'd been hurt—but she had also let someone else cradle her delicate life in their palm, and that was what struck him the hardest. She had given her life in all its stunted longevity to the Spider, to Johnny—not Loki. The gesture had wounded him so greatly that, in the midst of his rage, he could think of nothing better to do than to leave.

Let her have her Spider and Johnny and whatever else she desired. He had thought that if he stayed, there would be nothing but misery—that he would slowly be phased out, pushed into the shadows for better and brighter things. It would have been easier to detach now, to acknowledge the growing pattern and leave before someone else decided he was no longer worthy of their affections.

But she had come after him. She had wept and begged and pleaded and spoken gently, despite the way she had trembled with an anger of her own, and when he saw it—her—in the stairwell, he couldn't leave. She had broken him again that day, but not maliciously. No, her sorrow and panic had spoken to him, and her almost painfully apparent love for him ripped through to his very core. Naturally, he hadn't said a word of it to her—that he knew she loved him. He could hardly conceptualize his feelings, and it seemed cruel to force her to admit to hers.

The thought warmed him though—it made him soft and tender and heartfelt, if only for the briefest moment. A part of him disliked what it did to him. Her love made him weak and childish, but he had no desire to shoo it away. Let her love him—so few actually did. And she had no love for the Spider or Johnny, as it was now plainly clear, and he had been a fool to think it, even under the circumstances.

He saw her stand out of the corner of his eye, and as she stepped forward, he wanted to draw her to him, to sit her down on his knee and wrap his arms around her, to bury his nose in her hair. However, she went straight to Franklin, oblivious to his thoughts, and settled beside him on her knees.

"I lost it," Franklin said suddenly, a deep frown spreading across his lips. "It's… I don't…"

"You broke your concentration," Loki chastised, knitting his fingers together, head cocked to the side. The boy was immediately sheepish, head down and cheeks pink. Max glanced quickly between the two, and then cleared her throat.

"I'm sure you can get it back, Franklin," she offered, her hand on the back of his chair. "What do you need to do? Are you winning?"

The look he shot her was downright malicious, and Loki's lips set in a tight frown. Max, however, appeared not to notice, her eyes fixed on the board's various pieces. She seemed to realize that Franklin was nowhere near a victory, and then nibbled her lower lip.

"Ah."

He wanted to tell her not to pity the boy—that it wouldn't do anyone any good to coddle Franklin. It wouldn't help develop his gifts, nor would it calm his temper.

"I can turn it around," Franklin insisted moodily, shaking his head when he finally returned his gaze to the board. "I can…"

"Maybe if you…" Max licked her lips and leaned in to whisper something to him. He listened, but when the tension started to wheedle at Loki's head again, he knew that Franklin didn't particularly appreciate the advice. He watched Max lean back, eyebrows up, and then shrug. "Maybe?"

"No." His response was curt and just shy of rude.

"Well, maybe you could—"

"I can do it," he snapped. And then, before Loki could correct his tone, a pawn fell over. The tension disappeared again, and Max's smile was practically pulling her face apart. Shock read plainly across Franklin's face, and his smile broke when Max placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Was that the one you wanted to move?" she asked excitedly. Loki leaned forward and made a deliberate show of setting the piece back upright, expression still neutral.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I was… I was thinking it," he rambled, nodding his head a few times and beaming at Loki. "I did it!"

"It's taken long enough," Loki said as he settled back in his chair. Max shot him a hard, pointed look, and then turned her smile back to Franklin.

"Good job," she told the boy, rubbing his back, and he practically purred under the attention. Still, Loki's smile was barely there, and he tapped the board with a finger.

"Move it properly this time," he instructed. "You have already demonstrated that you are capable of knocking things over at random."

"But that was the piece I wanted to move," Franklin protested, straightening up as Max's hand fell away. Loki could see her glaring at him from the sidelines, but he wasn't about to stroke a child's ego for something that he probably did accidentally.

"It's a really good start, Franklin," Max said, pushing herself to her feet and stalking back to the couch. Once she was settled again, legs tucked beneath her, she shot him a foul look, but it softened when he gave her an impish smirk in return. He held her gaze easily, one eyebrow slightly cocked, and she gave in first, smiling and hiding away behind her book again.

"Now," he said, settling down in his chair, the tops of his knees knocking the small tabletop between them, "I want you to move your next player without touching it. I know you can do it with enough focus, and you've been wasting your potential these last few lessons." Franklin's shoulders slumped, a sullen expression starting across his face. "You are not leaving this floor until you have moved one piece, and I'd like it to be your next move."

The boy's eyes narrowed at the white chess piece as he leaned forward, hands gripping the corner of the table agaim. Little did he know then, but he would come to regret the request when, hours later, the piece still hadn't moved, and Franklin was close to tears. In the end, Max stepped in, insisting that he could try again another day, but there was no doubt that Franklin could feel Loki's disappointment, just as Loki could feel his anger.

Squinting in the mirror, Max used the clean end of a Q-tip to dab some clear cream along her cut. Sue had given it to her earlier that day—and by given it to her, she had left the half-finished tube taped to a piece of paper with instructions on her and Loki's door. Max was to dress the cut once when she woke up, and then once more later in the day. She chose after dinner, and even though only a day had passed since she received the cut, it was practically gone—the cream worked miracles.

Still, Sue's instructions said to use it for the next three days, and she intended to follow everything with almost painful consistency. Never mind that it had a bit of a weird smell to it, or that it burned the unaffected parts of her skin for a good thirty seconds after applied—as long as it was fighting any infections and rapidly healing her scrape, she was happy.

What she wasn't happy about, on the other hand, was the immense heat that had climbed to the top of the tower already. Even the kitchen was pretty warm, and Johnny promised to harass Reed and Sue about upping the air conditioning when they emerged from their lair for a breather. She didn't want them to be interrupted for something as silly as a little cool air, but seeing as there were no windows to open (and air vents that were already open as wide as they could go), Max decided one of the dynamic duo could spare ten minutes to up the air conditioning.

Besides, no one seemed to really care about electricity usage anymore—the amount coming in and out of the lab could probably power a small city. Therefore, outside of taking a cold shower every couple of hours and munching on ice cubes, there wasn't much else that could be done but turn on the air. Her eyes flickered up to the vent over the mirror—if they could just turn on air for some of the building, Reed might be persuaded to do it.

Loki didn't seem all that bothered by the heat. As she turned the bathroom light off and sauntered back into the bedroom, illuminated by a small lamp in the corner, she found him stretched out on the bed, an arm thrown over his forehead, eyes closed. He seemed relaxed, and he had shed his shirt and taken his belt off—which was odd. She stopped, feeling a blush creep to her cheeks, and then swallowed thickly.

This was stupid. She had seen Loki naked before, and yet rarely did she see him lounge around without clothes in a non-sexual situation. Perhaps it was only just now that she realized that he tended to be covered up, whether the clothes were his own or borrowed.

She lurched forward when he inhaled deeply and lifted his arm, as though she had been caught doing something against the rules, and then offered a shy smile when their eyes met.

"Were you ogling me?" he asked, lips curving into a grin.

"No." She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Not even a little."

"I understand how breathtakingly distracting I can be," he said, and she could practically feel his sarcasm—as unnecessary as she thought it was, "but try to maintain a bit of propriety, Max."

"Oh my god, shut up," she sighed as she rolled her eyes. His arms stretched out at his chuckle, and she climbed between them willingly, settling at his side. He was so incredibly cool—literally. Max trailed her warm palms across his chest, then her forearms, and nuzzled the dry side of her face between his neck and shoulder. His hand fell to her hair, almost instinctively, and she brushed him aside as she sat up.

"What's this?" he asked, watching as she pulled her t-shirt off and tossed it onto the ground. She saw the gleam of excitement in his eye, the slight twitch of his fingers toward her bare body—fuck wearing a bra when there was no one but Loki to see her. Still, she wasn't really in the mood for that, not when she was starting to boil from the inside out, and she batted his hand away when he reached for her.

"It's hot," she told him. This time, she pressed her body to his chest, her forehead nestled beneath his chin, and then let out a long sigh. "You feel so good when it's hot."

"That doesn't exactly… help the… insinuation of removing your clothes," he managed to get out, his arms held away from her as she shifted around, trying to find the most comfortable position. He might have been cool to the touch, but he always felt almost too solid when she tried to cuddle with him—and Max suspected he would not approve of her putting a pillow down wherever she wanted to put her head.

She sighed contentedly once she finally found the right position, and when she stopped moving, Loki's hand settled on her lower back. The other gathered her hair away from her neck, and her skin prickled when he held her briefly, then started to trail the tips of his cool fingers up and down her skin. They wandered down to the other hand at the base of her back, making loops and other shapes as they went, and then made their way back to her neck before burrowing into her thick hair.

This was a thousand times better than air conditioning.

Time crawled by. There was nothing but the delicate sweep of his fingertips, the relaxation seeping through her limbs. Her mind worked, however. It brought up things she hadn't thought about for years now, something she had set aside when all this craziness began.

She took a breath, an intake before asking a question, but the words fell flat. She lacked the courage momentarily, and she repeated the gesture twice over—sharp intake of breath, hold it, and then let it out and try again.

"What?"

She looked up quickly, that tingle of being caught in the act making her stomach clench again. "What?"

"Is there something you wish to say?"

"Not really."

"Max…"

His fingers fiddled with a thick clump of hair, straightening it out before looping it around the long digits. Nibbling her lower lip, she propped herself up on her elbow, still making sure that they were touching for optimal coolness, and then sighed.

"I have a question."

His eyebrows shot up. "I'm delighted for you."

"It's about you."

"I would be surprised if it was anything else—"

"Did you really want to be the king of Earth?" The inquiry silenced him, the mirth falling from his face. To his credit, he didn't seem particularly annoyed or angry at the question, but she could immediately sense it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. She pressed her lips together tightly, unwilling to budge—it was something she needed to know, and had needed to know for some time now.

"I wanted to be king, yes," he murmured, tugging on the hair wrapped around his finger.

"Of Earth?"

"At the time, yes."

"Why?"

He exhaled deeply, his gaze wandering up to the ceiling, and Max straightened herself out so that she could look at him properly. Her hands drifted to his hair, as though to catch his attention, but he seemed not to notice when she started playing with it.

"That's a very difficult question to answer," he said finally, turning his head to the side to study her. "Why do you think I did it?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know." It was the honest truth—she couldn't fathom why anyone would be bothered with such an insane job interview. "I don't know why anyone would want to be a king… It seems like a lot of work."

Laughter rumbled up from somewhere deep inside his chest, but he managed to subdue it before it exploded in her face. She frowned at him, her fingers working through his hair—before she realized what they were doing, they had braided a small chunk of it.

"I was born into royalty," he told her, speaking delicately with only a hint of a patronizing tone. "Of course I would desire a throne."

"But…" She tried to choose her words carefully so she wouldn't sound like a complete idiot in a conversation she quickly realized might be out of her league. "But you weren't born here."

"No." He paused, looking at her steadily, and then spoke up again before she could elaborate. "But I couldn't take Asgard's throne."

"Because of Thor?" His expression darkened somewhat at the mention, but he recovered quickly.

"Yes." The recovery didn't exactly take the terseness out of his voice. "Yes, because of Thor."

"So, you wanted the next best thing to Asgard?"

The laughter came out in flying colours this time, washing over her and filling the room. When he was finished, and had no doubt noticed her unimpressed expression, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, squishing her to him somewhat.

"No, at the time, I did not see Earth as the… next best thing," he insisted, shaking his head and settling back on the bed. "My allies needed something from the realm, and if I helped them attain it, they would give me an army to conquer Earth. When the fighting stopped, I would be king."

"Oh." What else was she supposed to say to something like that? Eyebrows furrowed, she mulled over the information in silence, her fingers still working in his hair, and she took a small breath.

"But what if no one wants you to be king?"

"Many do not know they desire a ruler until one is in place," he told her, the words flowing smoothly from his lips. She wondered how many times he had rehearsed a speech like this in his head—if ever. "They are deluded to think they need freedom… choice. Sometimes, they simply need a guiding hand. Not a cruel one, but a just one… one that would help, not hinder, a realm."

"Right." She cleared her throat. "That… Do you still want to be king?"

"Not of Earth," he said with a slight roll of his eyes. "No, I will leave Earth and its inane human affairs alone."

"Thanks, we appreciate it," she snapped, which earned her a grin from him.

"But do I desire to be a king?" he mused. "That is a question that I cannot… What are you doing back there?"

He snatched her hand away from his head, making her jump and giggle in surprise, and she held out the two offending pieces he clawed at.

"I might have been braiding your hair," she admitted when he released her wrist. His eyes narrowed a tad, and she reached forward to resume her fiddling, liking the way it seemed to calm her about the current conversation—it was a pleasant distraction for her hands on the off-chance they tried to creep up to Loki's throat. However, before she could get back to his hair, he caught her again and rolled her over, pinning her against the mattress with a hand on each wrist.

"The bright light of kingship will never lose its allure," he purred. Her breath hitched in her throat as he trailed his lips along her cheek, down to her shoulder, across her collarbone. His tongue flicked out at her breast, and she whispered his name heatedly when he drew her hardened nipple between his lips, teeth grazing just hard enough to make her squirm.

She couldn't remember exactly when the last time they had had sex was, but when he slid between her thighs, pressing up against her, she realized it had been too long—and she wasn't the only one who felt it. His lips and teeth and tongue were more insistent as he traveled across her bare abdomen, back up to her breast, her nipple. She whimpered when he bit at her side, not hard enough to leave a mark, but solid enough to encourage her growing desire.

"There is an intoxicating quality that comes with being the absolute authority," Loki whispered, kissing up her body to her neck. She bit her lip when he ground against her, clearly eager. She tried to pull her hands free, needing—desperately—to touch and pull and direct, but he held firm. "To have such power… It's a rare thing, Max."

His words were little puffs of air in her ear now, and she felt like he was crushing her, but deliciously so. When he finally released one wrist, his hand traveling downward, she buried her hand in his thick hair and dragged him in for a kiss, desperate and needy and reciprocated wholeheartedly. Every part of him was still cool to the touch, but his mouth was another story entirely—warm and hard and exquisite. She whimpered against him when he pulled her cotton shorts down as best he could with her parted legs and trailed a pair of fingers between her, though he skirted the places that actually needed his attention. When he hoisted her leg up by the knee, his fingers were damp and sticky.

"To have all the control you desire," he muttered between kisses. She felt him undo his trousers and push them down somewhat, and she managed to slip her shorts off one leg just as he hitched it around his waist. "To take… whatever you want…"

He drew in a sharp breath as he pushed into her, none too gently, and Max let out a strangled cry. Instead of settling for a moment, perhaps to let her adjust, he started to pound against her—there would definitely be bruises in the morning.

But once the pain disappeared, the pleasure was exquisite, and she couldn't remember why she had put this off for so long. Throwing an arm around him, she pressed open-mouthed kisses to his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, and simply clung to him while he had her—took her. The moan that slipped out was one of heady ecstasy, one that encouraged him, and the throbbing ache between her thighs grew stronger and steadier than ever before.

"I would have been a just king," he said through gritted teeth, one of her wrists still pinned beneath his hand. "I would have been fair, and I would have been loved."

"Yes," she whimpered, speaking without processing, without thinking—she was high on the sensation, on lust.

Perhaps even on love.

"You would have had me as your king, wouldn't you?" He hissed the demand into her ear, biting down hard on her lobe when she took a moment too long to reply. "You would have loved me, wouldn't you?"

"Y-Yes," she said shakily, eyes pressed together tightly—she could feel it in her trembling limbs, how close she was. Almost there, almost there. "Please, please, please, please…"

She whispered it against his skin, a private prayer for the god in her bed, and gasped when he pulled out of her. However, three fingers swiftly replaced him, filling her and prodding the deliciously perfect spot inside. Max cried his name, hating to beg but knowing he adored it, and he responded by wrenching her head back by her hair—her pinned hand had gone numb, but she didn't care, and it stayed useless next to her head.

She came with a gasping moan, his lips to her taut neck, and after riding out the pleasure, grinding against his fingers, she had to push him away, feeling temporarily overwhelmed. Breath racing, she set a hand on her forehead, which was quite warm, and let out a contented moan. When she looked to her side, she saw he had settled back against the wall, expression unreadable. Licking her lips, she sat up and pulled his pants down and off, throwing them somewhere over the side of the bed.

His arms settled around her as she crawled onto his lap, a little loopy from her climax, and his eyes drifted shut when she started to stroke him—still hard as ever. Sex might have been better now that he was… well, who he was supposed to be, but it was definitely a lot more work on her end. When she was ready, she slid down the entirety of his length, her forehead pressed to his, and started to rock back and forth slowly. It was still quite sensitive down there, but he seemed to be in no hurry now. His hands settled on her hips, helping her move only a little.

"I would have been a terrible king for this realm," he said, the words spoken so softly that she barely heard them. Max stopped moving, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, then his face. "I knew so little about it, and I doubt I would have taken the time to learn."

She kissed him, holding it for a long moment, and then settled back with a small laugh.

"I wouldn't have wanted you to be king," she insisted. His eyebrows shot up, and just as she spotted the beginning of a frown creeping in, she laughed again. "I wouldn't want to share you with seven billion other people…"

His laughter might have been a little forced, but the look in his eyes wasn't—and it made her blush. They fell into an easy rhythm after, neither speaking, and when he finally finished, grunting and muttering something against her skin, she fell into a sleep without nightmares for the first time in a month.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

HAPPY 2014, DARLINGS! I hope you all had a splendid and safe New Year's Eve, and a decent holiday season in general. I am finally back at home now, and actually pretty happy my vacation is done. It doesn't feel like a holiday when you're doing stuff all the time and perpetually annoyed with the people around you—but whatever. Not impressed with this shit weather, but I'm sure I'm not the only one!

This chapter had another scene to it, but I've decided to shift it to the next chapter because I'm happy with the ending here. I think, at this point, Loki has grown enough to admit that he wouldn't have been the greatest at ruling Earth, but I think Max is one of a very select few who might be able to bring that side out of him. I don't think he's especially impressed with himself for being able to say it, but it's leagues ahead of where he was when all this started. I feel like Max and Loki's relationship has made a few significant steps forward in the last few chapters, and it makes me happy—their relationship is the key element to this story, and I'm pretty happy with what's happened.

And excited for what's to come. Heh.

I've recently outlined a plan for the novel I'm working on this year. It's going to be a paranormal romantica (romance + erotica, apparently), and I'm pretty keen to get started. I might be looking for a beta reader or two in a few months when I've finished it, and I'd be happy to exchange a promo or something for some feedback! Anyway. That's ages in the future, and it won't affect my updating schedule for this story: one chapter per week is my goal.

Much love, dearies! Stay warm and dry in the shitfest that is Winter 2014, and I'll see you soon!