Chapter Text
A little bit older
A black leather jacket
A bad reputation
Insatiable habits
He was onto me
One look and I couldn't breathe
I said if you kiss me, I might let it happen
I swear on my life that I've been a good girl
Tonight I don't wanna be her
—
When one is trying to put on their best “I am a very important, all-powerful, scary witch queen” visage, it is extremely inconvenient to have an unfairly beautiful man suddenly stroll into the room, causing all brain operations to temporarily cease functioning.
This was the very predicament Edith was currently facing.
Impossibly long legs carried a lithe form through the doorway, the stunning face of its owner bearing a bored expression. An elegant hand pushed dark curls back from high cheekbones, and pale green eyes settled on Edith's face. The corner of the man’s mouth tilted up in the slightest smile—one full of mischief and insinuation that made her heart speed despite herself.
Without looking up from his perusal of the files Edith had sent him, Tony flapped a hand in the mysterious man’s direction.
“Nobody invited you, Reindeer Games.”
The man Tony had referred to sent him a searing glare before returning his gaze to Edith, locking her in place under those radiant green eyes.
She was thankfully saved from her fawning when the man opened his mouth—his pretty, pretty mouth with a rich, accented voice that he could probably use to talk anyone into a toe-curling orgasm by the sound of it alone.
“Loki Friggason,” he said, that voice sending a shock to Edith's core.
But then he kept talking.
“And who might you be, little witch?”
Her brain skipped over the question of how this man—Loki, apparently—knew she was a witch without having been told anything as far as she was aware, and went straight to righteous indignation.
“Edith Good. The Supreme.” Her voice was icy despite the annoyance flickering hot inside her.
Finally looking up from his laptop, Tony jerked a thumb at Stephen, who sat at his side.
“I thought he was the Supreme?”
“Sorcerer Supreme,” Edith sniffed. “Not a very imaginative bunch.”
“Right. Thanks, by the way, for the heads up on this one,” Tony said with his hands on his hips, eyebrows arched.
Stephen’s fingers drummed impatiently on the glass table. “That was not my call to make, Stark. The Masters have been in agreement with the Coven for centuries to keep their existence a secret.”
“And for good reason.” Edith's eyes flicked towards Loki, who was watching her with an insufferable smirk. “It never turns out well for us when men start poking around. Now,” she turned to Stephen, “would you mind telling me why exactly he’s here? I was of the understanding this matter would only be discussed between the three of us.”
Stephen opened his mouth to answer, but Loki was speaking again before he could get a word out.
“I heard tell a ‘high-ranking’ witch would be paying a visit and I was curious to see what passes for a powerful magic user on this ridiculous planet.”
“I don’t recall telling you—” Stephen tried to speak again, but Edith was no longer paying attention to him, glowering at Loki as he approached her with a slow, feline stride.
“I’m already acquainted with the sorcerer and have not been particularly impressed, so I hoped you might be more…”
His eyes drifted down her form before taking a slow, appraising path back up to her face.
"…skillful,” he finished with a devilish smile.
Even as she scowled at the arrogant man she couldn’t help the flush that flooded her cheeks, growing ever hotter the longer she held his dark gaze.
Stephen’s voice floated through the room, breaking her trance. “If we could get back to the matter at hand…”
Edith's face burned even deeper in embarrassment at her juvenile behavior; she quickly made her way to the head of the table on unsteady legs as Loki dropped himself into a chair across from Stephen and Tony. He settled in like he had every right to be there, spreading those long legs wide in his seat. Edith's eye twitched in vexation at his presumptuousness as she simultaneously tried to school the heat that wanted to rise in her cheeks again at the sight of his unbelievably muscular thighs.
With a great deal of self-possession she cleared her throat and laid out her plea for the Avengers’ help.
Less than a year before when her mother had been murdered by witchfinders—a circle of influential men who had been hunting and slaughtering witches for centuries—Edith had been abruptly forced to take over the role of Supreme. The Supreme was the most powerful witch in the Coven, and the one responsible for seeing to its safety and strength.
It had fallen to Edith to pick up the pieces of her mother’s long, disastrous reign. More interested in amassing her own power and seeing to her vain, selfish pursuits, Edith's mother had neglected one of her most important duties as Supreme: locating and instructing young witches, helping them come into their power and giving them a place where they would be accepted and nurtured.
Edith had spent all of her time over the past year traveling from place to place and scouring every information source available to ensure that no witch slipped under her radar. When she did locate a new witch, she made it her mission to take each and every one under her wing and protect them at all costs.
But she had failed.
A number of girls Edith was training had recently moved into a dilapidated New York brownstone that used to serve as one of the Coven’s many institutions for housing and educating young witches before the late Supreme had let most of them fall into disrepair. Somehow a group of men was able to slip through the protective wards Edith had cast over the building, and attempted to kidnap the girls. Fortunately—or unfortunately, for the men—one of the girls had been pyrokinetic, and the assailants were promptly seared to a crisp. None of the girls had been harmed, but the downside to their very thorough self-defense was the missed opportunity for Edith to question the men and discover how they had been able to bypass her protective spells.
The girls had managed to glean one piece of information before turning the men into nothing more than smoking embers: they wore an emblem, red bands on their arms emblazoned with a skull framed by six sinister tentacles.
They called themselves Hydra.
“I guess Hydra got tired of manufacturing witches and wants to try organic for a change?”
Tony glanced to Edith as he watched the projected surveillance footage the security cameras had captured before they were cooked along with the Hydra agents.
Edith nodded gravely.
“Ordinarily we would handle this ourselves, but you’ve dealt with these people before. So when I contacted Stephen he said you might be able to help.”
Tony flicked off the holographic projector. “Shouldn’t be a problem. These assholes can’t be up to any good, so best we nip this in the bud. I’ll get you set up with a workspace so we can get started.”
He strutted over to Edith and took her hand in his, giving it a firm shake.
“Welcome to the team.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“What?”
———
That was how Edith found herself spending most of her time at the Avengers Tower in between visits to her students, having agreed to Tony’s request—which was really more of a demand—to lend her not insignificant skills to the Avengers when they had need of them.
Between all that, along with her training sessions with Natasha and Yelena that Tony had also insisted on, and of course her work combing the Avengers’ databases to glean any information about what Hydra might have been planning to do with her witches, Edith rarely got a moment’s respite. Her exhaustion was compounded by the near constant presence of an infuriating, gorgeous, and infuriatingly gorgeous man who slunk around in her vicinity like a particularly aggravating shadow.
The first time Edith questioned Loki’s appearance in the lab Tony had bequeathed for her work, Loki, wearing that beautifully obnoxious grin of his, simply shrugged.
“I thought it might be entertaining. I don’t find the options for company here terribly amusing, and they don’t much appreciate my presence either.”
“And why might that be?” Edith mused, equal parts sarcastic and curious.
Tony scoffed from the other end of the room.
“New York? Aliens coming out of a giant glowing hole in the sky? General chaos and destruction? That ring any bells?”
Edith lifted her eyes from where they had been glued to the massive computer monitors.
“Oh, right,” she said, perplexed at the look she found on Loki’s face, a look of someone who was bracing themselves for hurt. “I could hardly dislike you for that. I can recognize mind control when I see it.”
Something about the way his smile softened into one that could be mistaken for genuine made Edith's stomach clench with a feeling she didn’t want to name, and one she also wanted to get as far away from as possible.
“I dislike you only because you are a pompous twat,” she added, turning away from Loki again, willing her heart to stop fluttering.
After many weeks of this Edith grew used to Loki haunting her lab, and a grudging respect developed between them. When he wasn’t being an absolute pain he actually proved to be quite helpful, aiding Edith in her seemingly never-ending hunt for information on Hydra, as well as training with her. She got a great deal out of sparring with Natasha and Yelena as it was, but she didn’t feel comfortable bringing her powers into play with them as she hadn’t quite had the chance to master her developing abilities as Supreme. In fact, since her ascension she hadn’t had much time to work on her own magic at all, devoting all her time to developing her students’ abilities. She was truthfully immensely grateful to Loki for giving her the opportunity to use her magic again; it was as much a part of her as the breath in her lungs, and she had missed it like a flower misses the warm kiss of the sun in the bitter cold of winter.
Not that she would ever tell Loki that.
Of course, he unfortunately never stopped talking even when sparring, most often as a tool to annoy her to distraction.
“May I ask you something?”
“Somehow I get the feeling you’re going to whether I agree to answer or not.”
“You seem quite young to hold such an important role as ‘queen of the witches’,” Loki remarked as he easily dodged the dagger Edith sent flying in his direction. In the breeze of the dagger’s path a few stray strands of his hair slipped out of the loose bun he had swept it into.
Edith was still slow at telekinesis, making it far too obvious to the significantly more practiced god what she was about to do.
“That’s not a question,” she panted, calculating her next move.
He tilted his head, watching her thoughtfully.
“I suppose I’m curious how exactly that came to be.”
“Well, my mother was the Supreme, and then she was murdered, so now here we are.”
And there it was again: that soft look in Loki’s green eyes that made Edith think for a stupid, fleeting moment that he might genuinely care for her.
Instead of fleeing or succumbing to the feelings roiling inside her, she decided to channel them instead.
Her inner turmoil was replaced briefly by smug satisfaction at the surprise on Loki’s face when she disappeared and then reappeared inches before him. She gave him one of his own patented smirks.
“And young or not, I can still kick your pretty ass up and down the sidewalk, so don’t test me.”
Loki was the one to disappear next; he reappeared behind her, his arms wrapping around her in a move she had been anticipating. Forcing down a shiver at the feeling of his hard body flush against her and his long fingers on her throat—she really shouldn’t like that so much—and the way she thought she could hear his breath catch and surely only imagined that he pressed himself closer, she grabbed the arm around her ribcage in one hand and reached behind her to clutch the neck of his shirt in the other. She hauled him up and over her shoulder, tossing him to the floor.
After blinking away momentary shock, Loki grinned, completely unruffled as he propped himself up on his hands.
“You find my ass pretty, do you?”
Edith rolled her eyes, offering a hand in truce.
“Please, we both know you know it is.”
He took her hand and stood, then proceeded to strip off his sweat dampened shirt. Edith promptly made some babbling excuse and left the gym; she knew she didn’t have enough self control to stop herself from staring at that perfectly chiseled stomach and the sharp adonis belt that would inevitably lead her eyes down and down an excessive amount of milky white skin to a smattering of dark hair just visible above the waistband of those goddamn sweatpants that always hung obscenely low on his narrow hips.
She made her way to the common room kitchen, walking faster than was strictly necessary, and once there downed almost an entire bottle of water in one go. It did little to cool her, the true source of the flames under her skin not something hydration could solve.
A much appreciated distraction appeared in the form of Tony, Pepper, and their young daughter Morgan stepping out from the elevators and greeting Edith as they entered the common room. Morgan waved enthusiastically in Edith's direction, and Edith lifted a hand to wave back when she stilled in shock; she could feel waves and waves of powerful magic suddenly washing over her, redolent of dusky summer evenings sparkling with fireflies, potent even as the little girl trotted away with an excited shout of “Uncle Steve!”
Edith took another sip of water, slow this time as she eyed Tony curiously.
“Stark, were you aware your daughter is a witch?”
The coffee mug Tony had just pulled from the cabinet slipped from his hand, shattering on the tiled floor.
“Beg pardon?”
“That’s a no, then. Seems like she’s a strong one too.” Edith's eyes sought Morgan again, finding her instantly by following the wisps of magic that still permeated the kitchen. “I felt her magic as soon as you came into the room.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s usually genetic, but sometimes it skips a generation; do either of you have any witches in your family history?”
She looked between Tony and Pepper, who were now sharing equally befuddled expressions.
“Not that we’re aware of,” Pepper said slowly.
“I can look into it. Do you want me to talk to her?”
Tony pulled his dark glasses off, rubbing his hands over his face with a groan. “Look, I don’t know about all of this—”
Edith leveled Tony with her most severe look. “Whether you choose to tell her or not, this is who she is; there’s no getting around it. Keeping her ignorant won’t keep her safe.”
Edith knew that all too well.
Running a hand through his hair Tony looked to Pepper, and they shared a moment of silent communication.
Edith's heart ached a little to witness the deep connection between the two; it was something she had never experienced herself and likely never would, given what happened the last time she had fooled herself into believing she had such a connection with someone.
Tony let out an aggrieved sigh, his shoulders slumping in resignation. He and Pepper made their way to the living room where Morgan was chattering away at Steve.
Edith turned her back to give them privacy, waving a hand to collect the ceramic shards of Tony’s coffee mug from the floor. She directed them over to the trash bin and let them drop inside, unable to stop herself from smiling as Morgan’s high-pitched voice rang out through the room.
“That’s so fucking cool!”
Two deep, male voices followed, shouting in unison.
“Language!”
Edith, Morgan, Tony, and Pepper moved into the living room to have a lengthy conversation where Edith gave Morgan a more in depth explanation of what she was. They all agreed to have her begin Morgan’s training, and although Edith really didn’t know where she was going to find the time, she would just have to figure it out, as she always did.
Rising from the massive couch, Tony passed a sleeping Morgan over to Pepper.
“Alright Stevie Nicks, see you Monday. I’ll have a room ready by then.”
Edith’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“What for? Can’t I just work with Morgan in my lab?”
“I meant your room.”
She blinked, then crossed her arms with a frown.
“I never agreed to move in here. I’m not a governess, Stark.”
Tony shrugged.
“I’ll give you your own private suite. And a 10k monthly salary.”
Edith had opened her mouth to protest again, but that gave her pause.
She thought of her pathetic little apartment that could barely be called such: one bedroom with a tiny bathroom and a grody kitchen, sparsely furnished without much more than an old, sagging mattress on the bedroom floor and a small table and chair in the living area. She hadn’t seen much point in decorating after moving out of her mother’s home; she was only at the apartment for maybe a few hours a day, if that.
She also thought of all the witches she surely hadn’t found yet, lost and maybe even in danger, and all the once beautiful homes that had housed the Coven’s young witches and watched them flourish before Edith's mother had left them to rot.
She uncrossed her arms.
“Fine.”
She snatched another bottle from the fridge—wine this time—before heading for the elevator. As the doors dinged open, she glanced over her shoulder.
“And Tony? I’ll need a garden tub in my suite.”
———
“Hey, Iron Dad.”
Tony sighed with annoyance as Edith swept into the lab.
“Can you not?”
He was lounging on one of Edith’s cushy velveteen armchairs, incongruous in the sleek, monochromatic lab. She had bought them along with a few other decorations and furnishings for her suite and the lab after receiving her first paycheck; she was saving most of the money, but she couldn’t resist making some small purchases for herself after so long of getting by with only the bare necessities.
Morgan was already in the lab as well, and Loki of course, who Morgan had inexplicably taken a shine to. He didn’t really know what to do with her, usually scowling when she flitted around him, but at times, like now, he was surprisingly… the only word Edith could settle on was ‘sweet’. He was crouched on the floor at eye level with the young girl with his hand open before him, miniature fireworks shimmering in his palm. Morgan exclaimed with delight, holding up her own hand to try and replicate the effect, though she only managed a few sparks from her small fingertips. Edith caught the tiny grin at the corner of Loki’s mouth before he noticed her watching them and schooled his face into its usual disinterested expression. She bit her lip to stifle her own smile and saw the briefest shift of something in Loki’s eyes, the celadon green turning just the slightest shade darker.
Edith had to ignore the answering throbbing in her center, hurrying to her work table to clear it of the mess of files and notes piled on its surface.
Tony followed her, arms crossed and wary eyes glued to Loki and Morgan.
“How’s it going with Morgan? Do we know what she can do?”
He looked down at the myriad of items Edith was unpacking from a large tote bag and groaned when he saw the candles she placed on the tabletop.
“Please tell me she’s not a firestarter.”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Tony raised an eyebrow.
“Young witches carry the potential within them for any number of abilities,” Edith explained, “but their dominant powers will emerge as they grow and develop their natural proclivities.”
“What’s yours?”
“It was healing arts.”
Loki chose that moment to join the conversation, prying Morgan away from where she was grabbing at him and strolling over to Tony and Edith.
“Was?”
“Well, most witches focus their energy on a specific type of magic, but a witch who has risen to Supreme can usually use many different types,” Edith continued, keeping her eyes down as she arranged her various tools, disconcerted under the look of interest Loki was now giving her.
“Such as?” he prompted.
“Transmutation, clairvoyance, teleportation, telekinesis, divination, enchantment…” Her downturned glance drifted back to the candles on the desk. “Oh, and pyrokinesis.”
Tony huffed. “You know, it could have been really helpful if you had shown up a bit earlier.”
“I don’t know yet if I actually have any of those abilities,” Edith rushed to add. She wasn’t used to the amount of attention that was being directed at her at the moment, and she certainly wasn’t used to the implication that she was of great importance. “And I’m still learning. Healing is still what I’m strongest at.”
Ready to bring the conversation to an end, Edith called Morgan over. They began running through a variety of different exercises with Morgan to test her potential skills—she evidently did not possess a natural inclination for pyrokinesis, much to Tony’s relief. Morgan was incredibly enthusiastic and seemed happy to endlessly observe Edith’s magic and practice her own, but after several long hours Edith waved her and Tony off. She let out a weary sigh as soon as they left the room, scrubbing her hands over her face.
She jumped when Loki’s dulcet voice pierced the silence of the lab; she had almost forgotten he was there.
“Why are you doing this?”
She flicked her eyes in his direction then away again quickly as she gathered her things back up, trying to temper her nerves.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, you did not come here to tutor Stark’s offspring, did you? Why not just let the sorcerer teach the child instead?” Loki asked.
“Why would I do that?”
Suddenly Loki’s cool fingers were on her chin, tilting her face up towards his. Her breath left her in a whoosh; she hadn’t realized he had gotten so close.
“You’re exhausted, darling,” he murmured, his thumb tracing her cheekbone just below what were likely the dark bruises of restless nights under her eyes.
Her skin prickled all over, and she felt the telltale flush permeating her skin that always reared its annoying head whenever Loki got too close to her.
She pushed his hand away from her face.
“I’m fine. And besides, I would never countenance allowing a man to teach a witch about magic.”
Then it was Loki’s turn to be irritated.
“And why, pray tell, do you believe a man incapable?”
“I don’t know what male magic users are like… wherever it is you come from,” she gestured at Loki. “But on Earth at least, wizards, warlocks, whatever they wish to call themselves, they can only channel magic outside of themselves through books and gadgets and fancy words.”
She gazed down at her own hands, unable to help the way her voice softened.
“A witch’s magic comes from within; it is our blood and our bones, the very essence of our being.”
Loki took Edith’s hand in his then, and a soft emerald light spread slowly from his hand to encircle hers, prompting her own magic to unconsciously reach out for his.
“Much like my own magic it seems,” he said quietly, and she gasped when her magic made contact with his at last.
She had never stuck her finger in an electrical socket before, but she imagined this was pretty close to what that must feel like.
Curiously, she hadn’t been able to sense Loki’s magic up until then—perhaps he hadn’t allowed her to?—but now it was almost overpowering.
She closed her eyes, her breath growing heavy as she was enrobed in the sensation of sitting too close to a fire on a frigid winter’s night, when the heat of the flames were nearly too much to bear, stinging even as it offered comfort and thawed fingertips blue with chill. She could sense Loki moving closer and felt her body respond of its own accord, her head tipping back the slightest bit, baring her neck in supplication. She heard Loki’s inhale and then felt the icy whisper of his exhale against the curve of her neck.
And then the spell was broken.
Edith had to catch herself as her body swayed to chase the encompassing touch of Loki’s magic, feeling strangely empty without it. When she blinked her eyes open he was staring intently down at her before taking a step back, putting a proper amount of distance between them again.
“I… have to go,” she stuttered inelegantly.
He nodded, an odd look on his face, and she rushed to collect her bag and escape the now oppressive weight of the air, syrup-thick with tension.
Things only got worse from there.
As she spent more time with Loki, she realized her feelings had developed from simple mooning—and vexation—into something far more dangerous. It wasn’t just her respect for Loki as a knowledgeable and skilled magic user that had begun drawing her to him more and more, she had grown to genuinely enjoy his company when he wasn’t driving her up the wall. He was clever, and funny, and oh, when he laughed—she wanted to fill her massive garden tub with that shimmering, honey-golden sound and bathe in it.
Alright, so she could no longer deny that she was down pretty bad for the God of Mischief. And evidently she hadn’t done a great job of keeping her little crush hidden from all of the Avengers.
Natasha and Yelena had figured it out almost immediately and were completely obnoxious about it; Natasha would grin insinuatingly while Yelena opted for jabbing Edith in the ribs every time Loki came into a room—in response to which Edith would usually punch Yelena in the arm, thus beginning a very dignified slapping/shoving/pinching fight that would result in flummoxed looks from everyone else. In her embarrassment, Edith usually missed the pleased little smirk on Loki’s face as he watched these displays.
After seeing them together all of three times, Thor had cornered Edith like a very large, overly excited puppy, wanting to know all the details of her and Loki’s romance. She had to suppress her own tears at the downright devastated look Thor gave her when she assured him that she and Loki were nothing more than sort-of-sometimes-friends. But Thor hadn’t given up hope, incessantly pushing them together at every opportunity—always with that innocent, beaming grin of his—refusing to be dissuaded by Edith's ‘I will kill you’ look.
She was almost certain Tony knew as well although he never mentioned it, likely not wanting to encourage anything. Her proximity to Morgan seemed to have triggered Tony’s 'Dad mode', and he simply watched with a disapproving frown whenever Edith and Loki dared to interact within view of him.
Edith figured Loki had also surmised her feelings; he was extremely perceptive and intelligent after all, and she had behaved like a simpering moron around him often enough. But as he never acted on it she could assume he did not feel the same, and she could accept that with only a small twinge—okay, a very, very large, horrifically stabbing twinge—of disappointment.
Or at least she would have been able to accept it, if not for that one time.
She really, truly would have been fine accepting his indifference towards her and going on repressing her feelings if she had never known what it was like to kiss him.
Because Loki Friggason, she had learned, did not kiss.
He devoured.
And being devoured by him had been the single most unspeakably blissful experience of her life.
Loki had been gone for several days to New Asgard with his brother, seeing to a threat that Thor had twisted his arm into helping with. Something to do with interdimensional monsters that should not have been there. Edith wasn’t sure of the details; she usually checked out when the conversations turned to the space-y, universe/dimension-hopping stuff. Even as a witch, that was all still a bit difficult to wrap her mind around.
As soon as she got word the Asgardian brothers were back at the Avengers Tower, she found herself speed walking down the hall to Loki’s room before she had even made a conscious decision to do so. She wasn’t going to examine too closely why she was compelled to rush to see him the moment he returned.
She just wanted to know how the mission went.
From Loki.
Right.
She felt a bit stupid when Loki flung the door open within seconds of her knocking on it, still fully outfitted in his regal Asgardian clothing, horned helmet and all. He must have literally just gotten back to his room, and here she was pestering him. He looked tired and maybe a bit irritated, but he didn’t turn her away, silently stepping aside to allow her in.
She glanced around the sophisticated, dark toned room as Loki pulled his helmet off and tossed it onto the couch with a long exhale. She hadn’t ever been in his room before, plus she needed to find something to do with her eyes other than ogling him.
This was her first time seeing him in his full Asgardian armor, and it was definitely doing something for her, heat pooling unbidden between her legs.
Loki continued to say nothing, turning to face her with crossed arms.
“How did it go?” she asked tentatively.
“Wonderfully,” he sniped, and Edith finally noticed the tension he was holding in his body.
She tilted her head, automatically scanning him for injuries.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
As she stepped closer, she caught the telltale coppery scent of blood on him. Was he injured and nobody had bothered to give him treatment? Or had he simply not told anyone? Knowing Loki, the latter was a very good possibility.
“You’re hurt.”
Her reaching hand was engulfed in his before she could touch him.
“It’s nothing, no need for dramatics.”
“Me, dramatic?” she scoffed. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
Loki scowled. “What in the Nine are you babbling about?”
“Nothing. Now stop being a child and just let me help.”
With an annoyed grunt, he allowed her to shake her hand out of his grip. She undid the top few clasps of his tunic and tugged the collar open, finding a large open gash sliced from the curve of his shoulder down his collarbone. She undid a few more clasps for better access to the wound, and heard Loki’s breath hitch as her fingers grazed his skin. Her eyes snapped to his face with concern; he was breathing shallowly through his nose, his gaze on her heavy.
“Sorry, did that hurt?”
“No,” he rasped through gritted teeth.
She raised an unconvinced eyebrow but returned her attention to her task, placing a somewhat shaky hand over the ugly wound. Her fingertips glowed with her magic, and the dark edges of rent flesh began to come together once more. Loki’s hand covered hers and she looked up again to meet his eyes—god , how was it even possible for someone to have eyes that green? They were staring back at her with a dark expression she couldn’t discern. Unnerved, she inhaled shakily, and she could have sworn Loki’s gaze darted down to her lips.
She said his name softly, almost a whisper.
Then in a split second she found herself being shoved into the door, Loki’s tongue demanding entrance to her mouth.
It was a demand that she was more than happy to acquiesce to.
The only way to describe his kiss was the feeling of being utterly consumed; somehow he was everywhere all at once, a hand sliding up her side to the swell of her breast, a strong thigh pushing between her legs and pressing against her center, hips pinning hers to the door, fingers tangling in her hair to pull her head back so he could ravage her that much more thoroughly.
She was helpless to stop the way she moaned and whimpered into his mouth, her own hands grasping for any part of him she could reach to keep herself tethered to reality. As her tongue met his over and over and she tasted every inch of his mouth while he tasted her in kind, she clutched desperately at his shirt, held the sharp line of his jaw between her hands, and threaded her fingers through that beautifully dark, silky hair.
He released her with one last swipe of his tongue behind her teeth to kiss up the column of her throat and suck the skin of her neck into his hot mouth, biting down hard. When he gripped her thigh to pull it up over his hip and rock his hardness against her, her cunt immediately throbbed in a rush of wetness in response and her nipples tightened near to the point of pain. And then he did it again, growling against her neck and squeezing her breast as she cried out when the covered ridge of his cock dragged perfectly across her clit; she thought she would probably—humiliatingly—come right then if he didn’t stop.
“Loki, wait, I’m—” she gasped, hands grabbing at his broad shoulders.
He pulled away, and Edith’s body wailed at the loss, aching without the feeling of his mouth, his hands, his heat. All that remained were his fingers pulling free of her hair, strands slowly slipping between them.
Edith slumped against the door, every nerve hot and alive and prickling under her skin, chest heaving, her face aflame and her center pulsing with need.
In contrast Loki’s face gave nothing away, the only evidence of what had just passed between them the flush in his cheeks and the still visible arousal straining against his leathers. And the way he didn’t look her in the eye, seemingly fixated instead at a point on her throat, likely where a mark was blooming from the violence of his kisses.
It seemed they were both at a loss for words for a long moment, until they found them again at once.
“I—”
“What—”
Edith clamped her mouth shut and Loki cleared his throat, the air between them awkward in a way it had never been before.
“I apologize. I overstepped,” Loki finally said, the perfect picture of the self-assured prince once more; the way his hands fidgeted in front of him was the only thing that belied his composure. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”
Edith blinked.
“Um, yeah, okay.”
She moved away from the door to allow him to open it, and he ushered her out. He wasn’t being unkind, he was simply behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred; he even placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as they stepped into the hall, and bid her goodnight with a cordial smile.
As she returned to her room Edith questioned whether she imagined the whole thing—it wouldn’t have been the first time she had fantasized about Loki—but the shades of violet newly decorating her neck and the dampness in her underwear was concrete evidence that it did happen.
The rational part of her mind reminded her that physical arousal was just a natural byproduct of adrenaline, left over from the mission he had just returned from.
It wasn’t that he had wanted her, it could have been anyone in her place.
It didn’t mean anything.
Even still, she couldn’t stop her stupid heart from wishing it could mean something more, despite knowing that it never would.