Chapter Text
You sleep soundly through the night. He makes sure of it.
You only stir ever-so-slightly with an adorable little mumble when he rustles the duvet, sliding in next to you. It lightens his ruminating mood just a little. The prince lays on his side, and releases a long pensive sigh, hoping thoughts of what he'd just done would be whisked way with it. He tells himself he's still in control, and that's all that matters.
But he's not, entirely, and it matters a good deal less to him than it ought to. Loki doesn't dare let that idea surface. He holds it underwater and hopes it will drown.
He reaches his hand out to cradle the curve of your back, but hesitates; watching your shoulders undulate to the tempo of slow inhales and exhales. The moonlight paints a soft glowing highlight over you hair as it cascades around your neck and shoulders. You're so beautiful like this. He has to feel it...feel you; has to assure himself that you're really here and tangible.
He dares to touch the pads of his fingers against a lock of your hair, slyly, and light as a feather. You don't notice it consciously, even as iridescent green ribbons of light glimmer around you, enchanting you with the sweetest dreams and the deepest rest his magic can provide.
Loki smiles faintly, hoping you'll appreciate the romantic dreams he peppers in; the two of you together, flesh against flesh, fingers lacing through hair, the smell and taste of warm skin and the salt of sweat, the weight and rhythm of entwined bodies consumed by electric pleasure.
Beneath the fatigue, he suspects you must be aching as badly as he was, and he's determined to ease that splendid ache, if only in your mind...for now.
He tries not the think of how you must have been dripping deliciously between your legs all evening, incandescent with need beneath all that shy fear.
She wants me, clearly, as much as I want her. So why all this hesitation?
He knows the answer.
Because we're strangers, he reasons.
Or a least, Loki is a stranger to you. You couldn't know how his voracious studying lead the prince to your vast body of work; the fiction and poetry you'd penned, even your immaculate academic papers and petitions to do away with banning and censorship.
He even followed news of the work you'd accomplished as a librarian and archivist, preserving priceless knowledge. You were relentless and whip-smart. Any scrap of information with your name attached to it had begun to make his heart beat a little faster. He'd never felt this way before; infatuated and flustered by someone so completely from simple words on a page.
Before long, he felt that he knew you so completely; your interests, intelligence, bravery and endless imagination, even your sense of humor. Yet, it wasn't enough. He was telescopically focused on finding the version of you between the lines of your work. He pined after the details of you; your favorite foods, your favorite flowers, what you longed for from a partner, what frightened you the most and what gave you joy. Did you smile often? What did it sound like when you laugh? Was anyone there to hold you when you cry?...Did you like to dance?
He was consumed with the need to know you...really. He had to meet you.
So, Loki did what he does best. He schemed, and schemed well, using this avenue to bring you to his door...to his bed. There was no other way within your society to engage (not without a devastating scandal).
And, yes, this would still be a scandal, but much less of one than an honest courtship would be. No one would be particularly surprised that the god of chaos suddenly changed his mind about taking concubines. Most would probably shrug their shoulder at the hypocrisy. What could one expect from the god of lies?
Nothing good. He thought, sadly, No one ever expects anything virtuous from me.
He could never let you know the depth of his fascination with you...of course he couldn't. You'd think him desperate, some kind of deplorable obsessive.
It's not as if I planned to fall so hard for her. It just happened. I just...
For all the silver-tongued rationalizing he was capable of, it failed him now. Apparently, he couldn't do it for his own sake.
This is far from the first mess the god of chaos has ever made, but, for once, chaos has found him in return, and it has burrowed so deeply into his heart..into the core of him.
You turn on your back languidly as you sleep, interrupting his thoughts. He moves closer tucking himself near enough to gaze down upon your face; that beautiful face. He's pleased to hear you let out a soft breathy moan, knowing you've found one of those sinful dreams he'd given you. Your hand hovers up, reaching for him.
Warm...your fingers shock Loki with their warmth. They curl along his solid bicep pulling him closer, and though he is so much stronger, he relents easily as you gather him into your arms.
Loki curls eagerly against you. He holds you close enough that his lips brush your cheek and he kisses softly; your cheek, your temple, the curve of your jaw, your neck and shoulder.
But not your lips, no, he wants to save that indulgence for when you are wide awake.
In your sleep your breath hitches and your back arches. He holds you and watches as your body shudders in climax against his sturdy frame, lost in the heat of imaginary coupling. The sweetest dream you've ever had.
You give one last luxurious sigh, and it reaches him like incense ascending from an alter to a god; an offering. He nuzzles against your chest, falling asleep to the lullaby of your slowing heartbeat.
He smiles furtively, like a fox, then kisses your cheek, satisfied with his good work.
Good night, sweet one.
----
You wake up slowly. To your surprise you wake up alone, and apparently, untouched.
I guess he is a gentleman after all.
Still, you vaguely remember sweet dreams...wet dreams. You blush at the memory, feeling how wet you still are between your legs. Although the sex was imaginary, the climax certainly wasn't. The odd pleasure of it, considered in the light of day, it is decidedly disorienting.
The prince's vast chambers look so different in the morning, cozier and less imposing. Like their resident, you imagine their personalities can vary vastly in the span of a day. You shake your head, wondering if you'll ever really understand him, his actions, or his motives.
You look for some kind of note, but find none. He has, however, left you everything you might need in neat piles; clothes, toiletries, a scrumptious array of food. The double doors to the library have been left wide open for you. You drift around, exploring what you assume will be your new home.
The thought crashes over you like ice water.
My new home.
You heart feels impaled. You want to go home...your real home, but you can't. There's a tightness in your throat and a claustrophobia itching and buzzing at the edges of your senses.
You test the doors leading outside, or at least out of his chambers and into the main castle...every single one, and there are many. You jiggle each handle once, twice, thrice, a dozen times, to be sure.
Locked...all locked. You're not really sure what else you could expect. Of course he would lock you in your cage like a pet canary. He owns you now.
You try not to think about that as you make a pathetic attempt to eat, or as you bathe, or as you change into fresh clothes, with the hope that all these familiar rituals in such an unfamiliar place will make you feel better, but they don't.
They can't, because you didn't choose your food, or your clothes, or even the scent of your soap. Nothing is yours. Even your existence feels borrowed...borrowed from him.
The thought makes your stomach turn, and though it's been hours and you're famished, you don't dare to try eating again. Time marches on and the sky changes in great vistas of color through the tall windows. It feels as if it's teasing you, mocking you.
No, you think, he's the one teasing and mocking me. I can't blame the outside world for going on existing, whether I get to experience it or not.
Finally, as dusk descends, you resign yourself to your situation. Finding a comfortable chair, you gather yourself into it like a disconsolate child. You have no sense of how long you've been there once the main doors finally click open again and footsteps echo towards you.