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From behind, late afternoon sunlight pooled through the tall windows, catching a swirl of dust particles near the old bookshelves. You break from his touch, eyes returning down to your lap, tracing a finger across the top edges of your book. Only a few hundred pages to go.

"Perhaps later," you replied airily. "Did the servants mention I wish not to be disturbed, either?"

Lyonel huffed out a laugh. "Not even sparing your lord husband?"

A quiet chuckle escaped your lips, but you didn't respond further, instead quickly picking up where you left off.

There was a beat of silence.

Lyonel shifted on his feet, drumming his fingers against the curve of your chair. He swept a glance around the library.

In all his years living in Storm's End, you'd think he'd have explored every nook and cranny of the castle, even just from scampering around in the days of his youth. He rarely came up to this part of the tower, and the library alone was a room he had never quite acknowledged its existence of—that was, until your marriage, and you had claimed the small space like it was a fortress of your own, practically barricading yourself with all these books when you had no other duties to fulfil.

He glanced back at you, still in a state of perfect serenity. Heaving a sigh, his patience fell through.

"Alright! Enough of that."

Lyonel snatched the book out of your hands.

You shot up from your seat. "Hey!"

The corners of his lips tugged upwards. "What's this you're reading anyway that's depriving me of your attention, hm?"

Horror flashed across your face. You sprang forward, but Lyonel sidestepped you almost effortlessly. He extended his arm so the book was out of your reach, eliciting a laugh as he watched you try multiple times to take it back—and fail.

"Lyonel, please—"

"Oh? Something I shouldn't know about?" he teased, a wicked grin spreading across his features. "Now you've got me truly curious."

You went so far as to clutch at his linen doublet, but Lyonel only seemed to be enjoying your desperate attempts, his arm stretching further behind as you pawed at his chest. Finally, he managed to catch a glimpse of the leather-bound cover, and his jaw went slack.

"A Caution for Young Girls?" he said, almost in wonder. "But darling, this is—" You both came to a standstill, and a spark of excitement suddenly shone in his eyes. "Oh, this is obscene. You mean to tell me you've been reading this filth all day?"

"Among other things!" you insisted, frowning, feeling a heat creep up your ears. You motioned your head to the few books stacked beside your chair—which were, of course, nowhere as lewd as the one your husband had seized.

Believing his guard was now lowered, you pounced once more. "Give it—" But Lyonel's reflexes were quick, and he took a sharp step backward, chuckling like a roguish child.

"I've only heard the smallfolk rave about such eroticism, no less written by a handmaid of Alysanne Targaryen," he said with a smirk, running a hand through his tousled curls. "You know, my love, if it is an outlet of release you're seeking, you could've just asked."

"Yes, I know, I know—" you replied, now defeated, and released an exasperated sigh. "Will you please just return me my book, Lyonel?"

Something brewed in his eyes then, the same fervent look when he was about to indulge in merrymaking.

"Hmm," he pondered innocently—or rather pretended to. "No."

Your brows scrunched in confusion.

"You'll have to catch me first."

You caught seconds of the most smug grin on Lyonel's face before he bolted for the door.

You groaned inwardly—as endearingly frivolous your husband was, that also meant you had no choice but to participate in his antics.

Cursing under your breath, you gave chase.

Storm's End had stood for centuries, but its thick grey walls had never witnessed such wayward amusement until the ruling of its current lord and lady. The castle itself was a symbol of strength, housing respect for all its inhabitants and casting a seriousness upon the stag—now it echoed with comical shouts and boisterous laughter, almost as if young love had never faded.

Footsteps striked against the ground, one set after another, as you dashed down the stairs and scurried through the cobble hallways. It was an endless blur of stone pillars and fresh torches burning in the sconces. You focused only on the salt-and-pepper curls in front, flying wild and untamed—often a wonder how Lyonel was still so full of vim and vigour.

He made a sharp turn then, and you followed suit, whirling down another flight of steps. The faint sound of waves crashing against rocks at the cliff's base could be heard, and light now spilled through the open corridors. You rounded the last corner, but the sight of the Storm Lord running past must've left a servant dumbstruck and stationary, and you nearly knocked over the tray of hot food she was carrying.

"Sorry!"

You quickly uttered an apology, darting straight for the dining hall where Lyonel led you inside.

But just when you were about to gain on him, he suddenly came to a halt. Lyonel spun around, and his lower back hit the edge of the table.

"Oof!"

You crashed into his chest.

A hand immediately steadied your waist.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, adrenaline washing over as you both fought for your breaths. Your heart was hammering against your sternum, and though you wanted to scowl at the affectionately irritating man for causing you such unnecessary exertion, the corners of your mouth couldn't help but twitch upwards.

Lyonel was already smiling. Messy grey ringlets fell over his forehead. His chest was still heaving, and he only stared at you intensely, as if deep in thought.

His gaze dropped to your slightly parted lips.

"You know what the hunting party spoke of?" He met your eyes again, speaking coarsely between laboured breaths, "They say I'm trapped in a loveless marriage. Because you're more taken with your books than you are with me."

Lyonel's tone hinted at a jest, but you could tell he wasn't entirely unbothered by the remarks made.

Safe to say, they were a needless concern.

"That's not true," you replied, scoffing lightly. "Do you think I would've entertained you this long if it was?"

"Then—" His features softened. "You do love me?"

Your heart rate slowed to a steady rhythm. You tucked a stray lock behind his ear, pretending to sigh deeply. "Unfortunately, yes."

A grin tugged at his mouth. His other hand drew out your book from behind his back. "Promise me you'll have something to eat first," Lyonel said, voice warm and rough, gesturing to the rich spread of food now splayed on the long table.

You chuckled. "I promise."

"And—" His arm pulled back a little, just before you could reach for the book. "Give me a kiss."

You were well aware of the several pairs of eyes and ears present with you in the hall—servants streaming in from the kitchens, a cupbearer filling wine just across the room.

Regardless, you leaned in to take Lyonel's lips between yours, feeling his beard tickle your jaw. His shoulders immediately relaxed, and no sooner than two seconds later his mouth moved to slant against yours, kissing you deeper and more eagerly, as if his one-day trip into the nearby woods had deprived him of you for many moons.

Ever sharp and poised, the man—or in your case, god—who gave you a fright caught it effortlessly with one hand. You might've been impressed by his fast reflexes if it wasn't for your poor heart still thumping in your ears.

"Apologies, darling. Didn't mean to scare."

But the familiar tease in his sultry voice immediately put you at ease.

Darling.

You still managed to get butterflies with how casually Loki used the term, the way it rolled off his tongue like butter on warm toast.

"Hey," you replied, a little breathy.

You noticed Loki's expression then—the smooth, defined contours of his face turning into rigid lines as he momentarily took in your appearance. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, and he placed the prized box of doughnuts on the counter without breaking your gaze, taking one step forward.

"Are you… alright?"

You hadn't been able to properly catch a glimpse of yourself throughout the mission, but you were well-aware of the feeling of debris and sweat clinging to your skin. Barrelling into rough concrete walls, scuffling around explosives in the background, running and dodging bullets that fired from every direction—you had suffered a few blows as well, sustaining some minor cuts, the stinging effects subdued by adrenaline.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You shrugged, not wanting him to worry. "Just scratches, that's all."

Loki eyed you knowingly, his voice warm with concern. "Allow me."

He reached to cup your cheek, so gently it always surprised you knowing the strength that gods possessed. His fingertips were cool against your skin, and a tingling sensation rose beneath his touch, pleasant and harmless, vanishing your light wounds. You felt a slight shiver then, and a glimmer of green washed over your body, your battle-worn tactical suit suddenly changing into a clean, comfortable set of clothes.

The spark of magic reflecting in Loki's irises faded, and his mouth curled into a small smile. His hands moved to lightly squeeze the sides of your arms, before situating on your hips.

"There. Beautiful as ever."

Feeling afresh, you melted into Loki's embrace, resting your palms against his chest, fingers toying with the loose threads of his forest green tunic. "You don't like me when I'm dirty?" you said, a playful glint in your eye.

Loki returned an amused look. "On the contrary, I don't mind that in the slightest," he quipped back, not missing a beat, gaze flickering dangerously to your lips. "But, I dislike knowing somebody had laid their hands on what's mine."

Your heart fluttered at his words.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when your relationship began, but you only knew you never wanted it to end. Your mind spun into a sweet daze in his presence, like how the edges seemed to blur in the dreamy sequences of old Hollywood rom-coms. 

You felt Loki leaning in for a kiss then, eyelids heavy, nose brushing against yours, lips parting as if this was routine—

But no. 

In that moment, you couldn't resist being a tease. Besides, you were still hungry.

You slid out of his grasp, not missing the way he paused, blinking twice in confusion before shooting you a pout. A cheeky grin twitched at the corners of your mouth, and you reached for the box of doughnuts he had set aside, seating yourself on the granite countertops.

"Want one?" You gestured to the box as you opened the cover, catching a promising whiff sugary goodness.

A dozen doughnuts, of frosted varieties and a few simpler-flavoured ones, laid out in a way that would make anyone spoilt for choice. After much serious thought, you eagerly snagged a strawberry frosted doughnut, generously topped with coloured sprinkles.

Loki, however, was a little hesitant. "I'm not exactly tempted," he said kindly, peering into the box.

You smiled softly. "We can share," you offered, knowing his palate was still slowly adjusting to Earth's food spread—accustomed to the more royal and sophisticated delicacies on Asgard.

Loki seemed pleased with your idea, and he inched closer as you allowed him the first bite. His fingers came to lightly wrap around your wrist, guiding your hand nearer as he bit into the doughnut. You watched as he slowly processed the flavour, letting it settle on his tongue.

"Hm." Loki hummed in contentment. "Not bad, but I've tasted sweeter," he added, throwing you an imperceptible wink.

As if scandalised, you shot him a cautionary look, then playfully swatted his chest. Mischief twinkled in his eyes, and he leaned further into your space, hands falling once more to your sides, mindlessly tracing slow, lazy circles at your hips.

A moment passed as you both finished up the doughnut in silence.

"I've missed you, you know?" Loki eventually started, voice rich and low. "You weren't in bed when I woke up." His gaze lingered lovingly, if not a slight worry beneath.

"Oh, right." You gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry. Mission only came up last night," you said, dusting off some of the sugar on your fingertips. "Forgot to tell you I had to get up early."

"A real shame," Loki mused. "I was so looking forward to our morning proclivities."

You caught a smirk threatening to curl at his lips, a pretense of decency behind the words he had put so delicately.

When your mornings weren't disrupted by sudden missions or scheduled for dreadful meetings, they were filled with quiet, tender intimacy—which would then, of course, quickly transition to unrestrained arousal and hot, steamy sex. It made up for the rest of the day, where you both had to go about your separate assignments, pretending to be nothing more than colleagues and who didn't harbour frequent thoughts of exploring each other's bodies.

Safe to say, you were missing him terribly as well.

You silently obliged when Loki wedged himself between your legs.

His grin surfaced, chest now brushing against yours. "Shall we… make up for lost time?" His hands continued their circular motions down the sides of your thighs, each touch growing more sensual.

Your skin buzzed with anticipation as heat pooled in your abdomen, want and excitement flashing in your eyes. You let it hang—waiting with bated breath for that brief flicker of green to send you stumbling into the bedsheets, all your troubles forgotten in the next hour or so.

Only nothing happened.

You caught on then, raising a brow. "What, here?"

"Where else, darling?" Loki answered almost immediately, all smug.

You stared at him, shaking your head. "You know we can't—"

"Oh, a little frivolity couldn't hurt," he cut in, voice deliberately seductive and smooth. "Besides, we've already denied each other long enough."

Loki could so easily have you both transported to the bedroom with a flick of his wrist. But what did you expect? He loved the chaos, even if you had agreed to keep your relationship a secret, uncertain of how the others would react—and fooling around risked actually getting caught.

Sensing your growing doubt, Loki murmured in the shell of your ear, as soothingly as he could, "We'll make it quick."

And then, before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours.

All hesitation died when you remembered the feel of his mouth, reciprocating his movement in a heartbeat. Warmth spread through your body, and your head only grew more dizzy with need when his hands moved to cradle your jaw affectionately, deepening the kiss. Your fingers curled at the nape of his neck, catching onto a few obsidian curls. Loki let out a small groan, and he nipped at your bottom lip, tongue prodding for entrance.

You indulged him, the pleasure familiarly addictive, too far gone to stop. He began licking into your mouth, faintly tasting of strawberry sweetness from the doughnut you shared earlier—all the more irresistible. He practically drank you in, lips continuing to move against yours in sync, intensifying at a furious rate with every expert caress of his tongue.

Refusing to break the kiss, Loki's hands began to frantically roam your back. His palms repeatedly slid along the material of your shirt, as if smoothening the creases, and a soft sigh escaped your lips when his hands shamelessly slipped beneath to explore your naked skin, making you shudder.

You were ready—ready to fully surrender yourself to him, giving in just this once to the desperate tent in his trousers that pressed against your core.

That was, until you heard the distant hiss of a metallic door, and for a brief moment, faint rock music thrummed in the hallways.

You stirred, breath uneven. "Loki—"

He only kissed the corners of your mouth, answering lazily, "Mhm…"

"No, Loki—" You tried to pull back, but he secured his hold around your waist. He closed the distance once more, lips coming to suck a trail along your jawline. Weakly, you added, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Loki murmured against your skin, eyes still shut as if trapped in a daze.

"I think someone's coming."

You drew a sharp breath when his hot mouth freely descended down your neck. "So soon?" Loki teased, smiling as he nudged you with his nose to tilt your head, teeth gently scraping along your throat.

"I…" His kisses were quickly lulling you back into a trance. "I really think we shouldn't—"

"There's nothing to worry about," he coaxed, voice slightly hoarse.

He was such a liar—you should've known he was going to take his own sweet time with you in the kitchen, his feverish but controlled progressions nowhere suggesting anything quick.

You stifled a whimper when his lips skimmed upwards, catching onto your earlobe and licking at the soft flesh. His breath tickled your cheeks, and your hands buried deeper into his curls. You were trying—and failing immensely to deny his pleasure, for the sake of your own.

The final resistance crumbled when Loki began sucking on a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear. "Oh, fuck—"

"This is a public space, you guys."

You froze.

"Not that I don't understand the appeal of doing it in the kitchen, but seriously—have some consideration for the rest of us before you make a mess on the counters."

The words rang loud in your ears, the distinct air of nonchalance and laid-back authority alarming you tenfold. Loki released his hold, quickly allowing you space, and you unceremoniously slid off the counters, feet unsteady on the floor.

You both exchanged glances, equally flustered and dishevelled in appearance—the pink flush that crept up his neck and the burn in your cheeks only cementing that you had landed yourselves in hot water.

After a beat of painful silence, Loki addressed the other man standing in the room, his voice teetering beneath skilled caution.

"Stark—"

"Say, are those doughnuts?"

Tony circled around the counter, all the while unfazed as Loki threw a look of confusion. He must've been tinkering in the lab for hours, an empty mug held in one hand, the bags under his eyes telling of all the heavy brainwork and mechanical labour he often lost himself in. Yet, Tony was evidently still in high spirits—even if he had also just caught the two of you red-handed.

He skimmed over the selection, then picked up a glazed doughnut, popping a bite into his mouth.

"Huh. That's actually pretty good," Tony noted, though more so to himself, "Would go better with some more coffee." 

As if you and Loki weren't still standing there, dumbfounded, he sauntered over to the coffee machine. He set his mug down, grabbing the pot to refill as he took another swift mouthful of the doughnut.

When he was done, he turned back to you both, expression inscrutable. "So, how long has this been going on?" He said as he chewed, posing the question like it was a casual "get-to-know-you" session.

"Um." You swallowed nervously. "A while."

"Wow," Tony replied, voice flat. He took a loud sip of coffee, staring blankly over the rim of his mug, seeming to gather his thoughts. Then, with much skepticism—

"Is he really that good?"

Loki's face immediately dropped to a scowl. "I'll have you know that I'm—"

You caught your lover's arm before he took another impulsive step forward, then shot a pointed look at Tony. "Dude!"

Tony suddenly cracked into a wide smirk, as if he had been holding it back all along. "Sorry—I'm just messing with you."

You paused, blinking. "You're not… mad?"

"Mad?" He quirked a brow. "If anything, I'm disappointed—I expected more subtlety on your part, Agent."

Loki's scowl deepened. "So you have known about us?"

"Oh, please. You two couldn't have been more obvious, really," Tony answered dryly. "Making bedroom eyes during conferences, playing footsie under the dinner table, sneaking off early during movie nights—I'm surprised no one else has caught on."

"And you wouldn't think to share your findings, would you?" Loki continued, his words measured and laced with vague threat.

Tony only rolled his eyes. "Relax, Space Romeo. I haven't told anyone, and I won't, alright? Your secret's safe with me."

You sighed softly then. A weight lifted off your chest, even if you weren't exactly confident about Tony's abilities when it came to keeping secrets.

"Right, well, for the sake of preserving what little is left of our dignity, let's just all pretend I was never here," he concluded plainly. Doughnut and coffee in hand, Tony began trailing out of the kitchen.

"Also, if you even think of tampering my mind with your green magic thingy—" He called out, directing a final glance at Loki, "FRIDAY will revoke your Avenger privileges."

Once Tony was out of sight, Loki turned to you with a wry smile. "I'd say that went well."

You gave him a sharp look, then frowned. "This is your fault, by the way," you said, folding your arms.

"My fault?" Loki replied in an incredulous tone, growing amused. You could already see the playful spark in his eyes returning. "I recall you thoroughly enjoying the moment as well."

"Yeah, until I heard someone was coming."

Loki let out a small chuckle then, stepping closer, gently nudging your arms to unfurl from its tight hold. You let him—and when he reached to cup your cheek, you yielded entirely, features softening against the crevices of his palm. His gaze swept low as a thumb brushed over your lips.

And in a low, almost tentative voice, he had the nerve to ask—

"…Still in the mood?"