GG

The bond between Donna and The Doctor was certainly one for the ages.

Human words couldn't do justice to the type of bond they had, at least that's what The Doctor claimed in his newer, more openly emotional regeneration. Their love was too strong for just the term of friendship, too close for anything romantically implied, too adoring to be siblings. Even the term soulmates had a particularly selective connotation to it that left a bad taste in The Doctor's mouth.

Nevertheless, it was clear they could hardly live without the other. There was enough love between them to power galaxies, and knowing their history neither would be surprised if it had.

And it was this closeness, this fierce tenderness, that led to discussions such as this. Displays of deep affection half-heartedly disguised behind harsh tones and disgruntled gestures.

"You may be a high and mighty Time Lord, but you're still an idiot." Donna huffed, as the TARDIS finally settled after takeoff.

The Doctor scoffed. "I'll try not to take that to heart, and I thought that escape went quite well!"

"YOU THOUGHT-" Donna stopped herself, breathing deeply to try and contain her shit that was threatening to lose itself. "The only reason we even STARTED to escape was because I PUSHED YOU TO THE EXIT!"

"Well yeahhhh..." The Doctor rolled his head, letting his eyes drift away from his companion's. "But-."

"But NOTHING." Donna interjected. "It's the same thing every time! You start running your mouth and saving the day, and that's wonderful, but you don't know when to stop!"

"Donna I-"

"Let me finish." She snapped, raising a pointed finger towards him and stepping closer.

The Doctor held his hands up in front of him with a gentle nod of the head.

"You drag yourself through hell, running and ranting and... and sonic-ing!"

A small snicker escaped The Doctor, but he straightened his face almost instantly after when her angry look didn't waver.

"You can't control yourself!"

He didn't dare argue.

"I always have to pull. your. arse. out.!" She accentuated each of the last words with a corresponding poke to The Doctor's torso.

And while she expected the pokes to help get her point across, she definitely was not expecting the almost childish giggle that spilled out of his mouth. Or the awkward jerk his body made to cover the ribs she had prodded.

But Donna wasn't stupid. She didn't waste any time in a state of surprise, no she jumped straight to (correct) conclusions.

"Oh no way." She grinned, creeping closer to the now incredibly flustered Time Lord.

"Now Donna," The Doctor began, his mouth twitching upwards in a nervous smile of self-betrayal. "You don't know what this is."

Donna gave a singular breathy chuckle. "Nice try sunshine, but you're not yapping your way out of this one."

"There are countless reasons why... why I would... flinch away from you like that!" He continued rambling.

"I know ticklish when I see it sweetheart." She smiled sweetly, though there was nothing sweet about the predatory glint in her eyes.

"What?!" The Doctor tensed, almost frozen in place at the mention of the word. Though quickly forced himself back into talking his way out of the situation in a faux-calm tone. "Uh, Doctor, Time Lord, no."

She smirked, stepping closer to him.

"Donna," she paused, reveling in just how much she was getting to him. "Human," she paused again, less than a few feet away from him. "Yes."

And then she lunged.

Her hands met his sides and The Doctor curled inwards, his arms tangling themselves in a fruitless effort to push her away.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of Donna's fingertips clawing against the fabric of The Doctor's shirt, before he finally cracked.

Bubbly giggles spluttered out of The Doctor's chest as he folded forwards, allowing Donna to slip behind him and trap him in a bear hug. His knees slowly buckled, and (with no chance at keeping someone his height upright by herself), Donna followed his squirming body to the floor.

"Dohohohonnahaha!" He squeaked between bouts of helpless laughter, but her name was barely comprehensible amongst the childish noises she tickled out of him. "Ihihihi-!... wahahai-!... stahahaha-!..."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes as her hands climbed up into his armpits. "What was that?"

He couldn't reply with anything other than a squeal, writhing for a few seconds before his body finally submitted to the playful torture. He tried to splutter a few words out, but nothing could make its way through the torrent of giggles currently occupying his voice box. THe man had gone practically limp, aside from his hands which were still seized up like a tyrannosaurus rex.

"I never thought I'd see the day..." Donna shook her head in amusement as she skittered her fingernails around his collarbones. "That anyone would render you speechless."

"DOHOHOHON-! WAHAHAI-! IHIHIHI-!"

She laughed again. "Keep trying space man."

"IHIHIHI-! CAHAHAHA-!" He chortled, his hands suddenly free enough to slap themselves to his cheeks to cover his embarrassment.

"Whaaaat~?" She teased, rapidly poking him in one side while squeezing the other.

"IT TIHIHICKLES!" He somehow blurted out, before breaking into cackles as Donna transitioned to dual-hand squeezing. "DONNA PLEHEHEASE!"

It was Donna's turn to cackle, though hers was much shorter and much more controlled of course. "It tickles, does it? I had no idea."

Aside from the odd jolt when Donna hit a particularly sensitive spot, The Doctor had gone practically limp. All that laughter had fully sapped his energy, and he was leaning his back against Donna's chest to keep himself upright.

Taking her chance, Donna once again decided to change her position to further destroy the man. Sliding back from under him (taking care he wouldn't fall back and whack his head on the TARDIS floor - she wasn't that cruel), Donna pulled his arms from covering his face and stretched them above his head.

In his state of ticklish delirium, The Doctor didn't quite notice what was happening. Assuming she had finally taken pity on him, he focused on catching his breath with a stupid grin still stuck to his face.

That was until the moment her shins pinned his arms to the floor.

He locked eyes with her, now fully aware of just how screwed he was. With Donna kneeling above him, she had full access to the armpits she had assaulted with ticklish claws just moments ago.

"Nononono Donna you can't!" He begged, legs kicking wildly with every word. "You'll kill me!"

She shrugged, "You'll regenerate." before putting her typing skills to good use and pitter-pattering her fingertips against his underarms.

The Doctor clamped his mouth closed, thrashing his head to one side with his eyes screwed shut in a soon-to-be vain attempt to not react to the unbearable sensations radiating through his body. But even a mighty Time Lord could only hold out for so long.

After less than ten seconds (which The Doctor would later argue was a rather impressive length of time), he crumbled. The childish, high-pitched giggles returned and he was once again a mess beneath Donna's touch.

"Oh!" Donna gasped, slowing her fingers in response to the Doctor's slightly wheezy breathing. "And if you do regenerate, I'll be the first person ever to tickle two Time Lords!"

Aside from the occasional titter, The Doctor could finally gain control over himself again. He gulped mouthfuls of air as Donna climbed off his arms, and slowly sat up next to her.

"Not-" He panted, still more than a little out of breath.

Donna chuckled. "Take your time."

"Not tw-" His huffing interrupted again. "Not two."

She gave him a quizzical look.

"Even if I-... regenerate... I'm still the same... singular Time Lord." He corrected. "You've only tickled the one, and to be honest it happened a lot back on Gallifrey so you're not particularly sp-"

She barked a singular laugh, cutting him off. "God, you really don't know when to shut up."

If the angel were asked to list his favourite things since… well always, he’d most certainly list Crowley first and foremost. The mention of his books were, nevertheless, only one breath away.

So, quite unexpectedly, since Aziraphale’s introduction to spending quality time in bed, Crowley had not been succumbed to countless hours of cuddling, but to a quite unsatisfyingly absent angel whose face tended to disappear behind the pages of a leather bound classic. Moving between the covers and pillows ended up being rather unpleasant, since numerous pointy hardbacks stuck out on either side of the mattress. And if he got really unlucky, Aziraphale even left their pillow fort for a while, putting many cold miles between their vessels, only to return with more books.

To be fair, the giddy face of the angel who seemed to experience a whole new level of dedication to his favourite hobby was rather endearing and Crowley could not seriously bring himself to complain to Aziraphale about the lack of physical attention to himself. Besides, the angel was a rather entertaining reader, exclaiming and gasping and giggling all the while which did give Crowley some fun hours, as he simply watched him, curled up by his side, shaking his demonic head with a soft smile.

Sometimes Aziraphale had found good compromises: petting Crowley’s back while reading out loud to him or drawing the lines on the pages out with a single finger between Crowley’s shoulder blades. He was also really unbothered about Crowley’s choosing of which way to position himself around or on top of the angel, across his belly, next to his side, underneath his arm – nothing disturbed Aziraphale when he was reading.

Crowley had therefore enjoyed some of the time they’d passed in bed together.

But after two weeks of frequent reading and of books piling up around them like a flooding tide, Crowley did start to feel like he was drowning in old ink and crinkly pages. And it had to come to an end.

“Angel,” he moaned, when hours had passed with only the sound of pages turning, the repetition transforming it into a form of torture to his ears. He was curled up by Aziraphale’s side, the blanket allowing for nothing but his hair and his yellow eyes to stick out – his expression was all but pleased. “Aziraphale!!” He repeated, slipping his head out from underneath the blanket entirely, intensifying the glare he directed up at the angel’s face.

“Hmmm?” He asked, not even looking at the demon, his blue eyes glued on the pages that shielded him from the warm and welcome temptation of snuggling in peace.

Crowley groaned and had to summon all his lazy powers to slip out one arm from underneath the comfort of the blanket. He moved it up to put his hand between the stupid book and the angelic face. “Haven’t you done enough reading for now?”

Aziraphale swatted Crowley’s hand away like a pestering fly and didn’t pay much attention to his responding hiss. “Crowley, why don’t you just go back to sleep, that’s a dear.”

Surprisingly, the displeased look in Crowley’s eyes grew even less pleased than prior and the demon struggled to pull out arm number two from within the sweet – and currently only – embrace of his blanket to cross both of them over his chest meaningfully. “Can’t you just put your book down for a few months and… just…” cuddle meee?, he continued in his head, but a sudden twang of insecurity avoided the words from leaving his tongue.

His lips turned into a thin line, when Aziraphale’s sole reaction consisted of a quickly uttered: “What? Yes, jolly good, indeed.”

Fiddling with his hands, he sighed and glared at the ceiling for a while.

“You’re not going to pay attention to me then?” He asked eventually, moving his head to look at the angel’s face. And just then did a small smile and a very smugly raised eyebrow grace that oh so innocent face.

“I guess not.”

Ohh, thought Crowley. Ohhhh. That was how he wanted to play? Foolish, foolish angel. No one could beat Crowley at a game of ‘You can’t get a reaction out of me anyway’. That was a challenge, the demon was more than apt to live up to.

A smile took over his brooding features as he nodded to himself, feigning peacefulness, his eyebrows rising just as smugly as the angels’ had. “Huh.”

Another page was turned – extremely slowly and extremely loudly. Crowley narrowed his eyes. The angel was still smirking ever so slightly, thinking himself clever. The smile on Crowley’s features grew.

“I see. Don’t let me disturb you then, I’ll just get a little more comfortable.” Lifting his upper-body, Crowley crawled on top of his angel, placing a hand on either side of his body, before lowering himself down. His head came to a rest on Aziraphale’s belly, the soft cotton of his pyjama smelling of fresh waterlilies. With a loud sigh, Crowley cuddled himself as close to the angel’s body as possible, his arms finding the space between the small of his back and the mattress to cross underneath and wrap him up in his embrace.

Aziraphale didn’t allow any of that to disturb him in the least. Behind his book, hidden from view, he bit his bottom-lip, concealing a little smirk. Mischief was in the air and he was quite prepared to see whatever Crowley would come up with to gain his attention. The letters on the pages turned into senseless repetitions of the same line, his attention not really remaining with his lecture.

Crowley was feeling particularly mischievous in that very moment and he was in a rather perfect position to act out his mean little plan. Moving his chin over Aziraphale’s tummy, he tightened his grip around him ever so slightly. Suddenly he buried his nose in the soft, angelic belly and inhaled deeply. “Ahh, you smell so good, angel.”

Aziraphale’s grip on his book grew a little stronger. Oh dear, maybe he was in more trouble than he’d expected. “Crowley,” he warned meaningfully, conveying unmistakeably with his tone of voice that the demon better not do what he appeared very much about to do.

“Yes?” The demon answered innocently, a playful grin settling on his face, as he started circling Aziraphale’s belly with the tip of his nose.

“I’m warning you.” The angel stated, shifting a little on the covers and lifting one hand from his book to hold up a reprimanding finger. His face stayed hidden behind the hardback copy which merely propelled Crowley’s grin to new dimensions of evil.

“I’m not doing anything.” He lied, placing a kiss in the middle of Aziraphale’s belly, before more kisses followed - to his sides, to his ribs, to his hips, all soft spaces that got Aziraphale to hold his breath and press his lips together tightly.

He tried not to react too strongly to the sensations spreading on his midriff, but truly, Crowley started to tickle him more and more and soon enough, Aziraphale was sure of it, it would become unbearable. He cleared his throat and shifted around some more, trying to distract himself with the sentences under his nose, but it was to no avail. He was about to lose their little game, but he tried to stay afloat for as long as he possibly could. Little titters of laughter tinted his voice when next he spoke. “You- you will regret this.”

“I sure hope I will.” Crowley answered, his smirk audible in every syllable and all hell broke loose when next he dipped his head to Aziraphale’s tummy and started growling into it. A loud screech left the angel’s lungs as he slipped out of his comfortable sitting position, starting to hit Crowley’s head with the next best weapon – which turned out to be the very enemy, the book itself.

“NOO!!” The sweetest squeals emerged from the bibliophile angel as Crowley continued to snarl, growl, gnaw and nibble all over the cotton covered ticklish belly at his mercy, paying no heed to the painful attempts at self-defence directed at his poor head. “DON’T DO THAT!!! OH CROWLEY YOU’LL-“ A peal of high-pitched laughter cut off Aziraphale’s line of thought as wily fingers started prodding his sides, adding to the unbearable sensations that overpowered his vessel.

“I’ll what? Tickle you until you pop? Maybe sooo.” Crowley snickered when Aziraphale finally tossed the dangerous book aside and started pushing and hitting at him with his hands instead, his scrunched up face decorated with the sweetest smile and his cheeks painted a very rosy colour.

“I BEG OF YOU!! STOP THIS!!”

Crowley merely smirked lazily, rubbing his face against Aziraphale’s ticklish sides and wiggling his fingers into easily accessible ribs on either side of his favourite body, never wishing for one second to stop.

“Can’t ignore me now, can you?”

Aziraphale arched his back as best he could and pushed his head into a bunch of pillows violently. They went flying, coming in handy and appearing a new wonderful weapon against Crowley’s ticklish attack. The demon started laughing when one of them came down next on his tousled hair, softer than the previous weapons, but nevertheless dangerous in the hands of the angel.

“Hey, stop hitting me!” He chuckled, removing one arm from underneath Aziraphale’s back to protect himself, trying to pull the pillow from the other’s grasp.

“NEVER YOU FOUL DEMONIC-“ Aziraphale choked on a new wave of laughter when Crowley’s hand disappeared underneath his arm, fingers hitting the centre of his armpit and making it impossible for him to keep from squeaking with laughter. The pillow was left harmless on the mattress next to the pair, as Aziraphale tried to curl up into a little ball.

Crowley followed his every move, expertly attacking whichever weak spot revealed itself next, until Aziraphale’s position on the bed had changed from upright to sideways.

“TRUTH, TRUTH!!” The angel squeaked when Crowley’s fingers were gently scribbling up his sides, kisses tickling him underneath his chin. “YOU GOT ME! I GIVE UP! I DO! CROWELY!!”

Chuckling softly, Crowley stilled his skilful fingers and removed his mouth from Aziraphale’s sensitive neck. The angel was panting, a big smile on his face and small titters still spilling from his lips.

Crowley had missed their tickle fights especially during these last two weeks of the angel’s insatiable hunger for books. Nothing was as sweet as his angel’s reaction to having Crowley kiss and tickle all over his middle. Though Aziraphale would probably not agree with him on this – he kept teasing that nothing could be sweeter than his demon flailing like a bug in  the water whenever Aziraphale’s fingers came near his hips or the backside of his ribs.

“You,” Aziraphale exclaimed when his breathing allowed it, “are in for quite the ordeal!”

“Oh, am I?” Crowley chuckled, pushing their noses together and planting a quick kiss on the angel’s lips. “Do you really think you’d have the singlest tidbit of a chance against me right now?”

Aziraphale threw his head back with another peal of laughter when Crowley’s fingers continued their ticklish way up his sides. “NO NO!! NOT A ONE!! CROWLEY PLEASE!!”

“Not a one.” Crowley repeated meaningfully and grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder to roll them over, grinning happily up at his angel’s bright face. “I won. Now I demand-“ He stopped himself, too embarrassed to say it out loud.

“Cuddles?” Aziraphale offered, smirking knowingly.

Crowley growled  and hissed in response, but his blushed cheeks made it lack any vigour. “Yes, that!!” He spat out, before burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck and turning them over again.

Aziraphale smirked at the demon’s antics, wrapping his arms around him to pull him as close to his body as possible and allowing him to keep his face hidden at his neck. “You shall have your cuddles then, you wily snake.”

“Alright, now head up, hips square, aaaaand… pedal!” To his credit, Jamie did not laugh when Roy seemed to fall to the side in slow motion. He didn’t. Okay, maybe his lips twitched a little bit, but Jamie could easily blame that on a muscle spasm after all the exercise he’d done that day.

“It’s alright, good lad, good lad, right back on,” Jamie cheered, channeling his Mummy when she taught him to ride a bike as a sexy little baby. Roy did not seem to appreciate the encouragement the same way baby Jamie had, pushing grown-up Jamie back with a growl as he swung his leg back over the seat.

Clearly, Roy needed some extra help. This time, Jamie planted one hand on the back of Roy’s neck, and the other steady on Roy’s waist. Roy was tense underneath his fingers, but, Jamie figured, he was entitled to a little tension when he’s facing shit from his past. Losing his Grandad really fucked him up, and Jamie wasn’t going to begrudge the man his feelings, no matter how Roy tried to choke them into submission.

“Don’t need my fucking hand held,” Roy growled, undercutting his statement when Jamie let go and Roy immediately toppled sideways. “Fuck!”

“Alright, keep your trousers on, old man,” Jamie put his hands up in the universal ‘do no harm’ gesture. “Let’s try again, come on.” 

Roy gave a long suffering sigh, rolled his eyes so far back that Jamie was pretty sure he got a good look at his own brain, and swung his leg back over.

Jamie, trying to be a good friend, lightened his touch since Roy clearly wasn’t a fan of Jamie touching him in the first place. 

If possible, Roy got even more tense. “Oi!” He barked at Jamie. “I said don’t fucking need you for balance!” He claimed, scrunching his shoulders like Jamie always did when Sam wiggled his fingers under Jamie’s chin.

Now, Jamie wasn’t what anyone would call a genius. He wasn’t really book smart; the letters moved around too much for him to want to unscramble them. Because of this, people were constantly underestimating him, at least in the brains department. Look, Jamie might not be winning the Know Bell Prize or some shit any time soon, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. He knew what it looked like when a poor sod was ticklish and doing his damned best to hide it.

Jamie bit down on his tongue to hide a mischievous smile. “Look, mate, you don’t have to like it, but you need me until you can at least get a few meters on your own, yeah? C’mon, let’s do this, old man.”

Roy grumbled what Jamie figured was an assent, and Jamie placed his hands just firm enough that it could reasonably be interpreted as keeping Roy balanced, and not as a quest to get Roy Kent to laugh. Holy shit, did Roy giggle? This was going to be so damn fun.

Under Jamie’s light touch, Roy instantly tensed back up. Jamie risked a tease. “C’mon, mate, you’re never gonna keep your balance when you’re this stiff. You gotta loosen up a little,” Jamie squeezed Roy’s neck, and was rewarded with a growl that Jamie would bet his entire trainer closet was covering up a chuckle.

“You can fuck right off if you’re gonna keep talking instead of teaching,” Roy bit out.

“Right-o, Roy-o,” Jamie said cheerfully. “Look straight ahead, not at your toes, just like football, yeah? Otherwise the only place you’re going is down.” Jamie subtly moved his hand a little higher so that it was resting on Roy’s ribs. Roy made a sound like all the air had been punched out of him.

Jamie took his hand from Roy’s neck and used it to cover his smile. God, this made all the four am training sessions more than worth it. 

Instead of putting his hand back on Roy’s neck, Jamie decided to up the ante, and wormed his fingers under Roy’s armpit.

This seemed to be the last straw for Roy, who gave a shout and buckled to the side. Jamie went down with him, figuring the jig was up, and started playing Roy’s ribs like a goddamn piano.

“Shit - fuck - you shihihiitfucker - dahahahahahammit Tahahartt!” Roy broke, low, growly giggles (giggles! This was the best day of Jamie’s life.) and tried to curl away from Jamie’s fingers.

“Awww, what’s the matter, mate? Could it be the the big, bad, Roy fucking Kent is as ticklish as a little lad?” Jamie goaded, sneaking a hand underneath Roy’s hoodie and scribbling at his stomach.

Roy tossed his head back, a forced grin on his lips. Jamie was sure if his eyes were open there would be murder in them.  “Ihihihi’m gonna fuhuhucking KIHIHILL YOU!” Roy roared, his back arching.

“Roy, mate, this is fucking golden,” Jamie crowed, his smile splitting his face. Roy thrashed hard, harder than Jame was expecting. 

Jamie knew he was on borrowed time, so he wormed both of his hands into Roy’s underarms, and he was not disappointed.

Roy Kent. Fucking. Howled.

Jamie couldn’t help but laugh along with him. “Oh my god, this is worse than I thought - mate, this is a fucking liability! How are you supposed to be ‘here, there, and every-fucking - woah!”

Quicker than Jamie could blink, Roy flipped their positions, and was looming about Jamie like a fucking werewolf. And looking at Jamie like he was a fucking steak.

“Roy, mate, it’s all in good fun, yeah? We don’t really have to -”

“Oh no, we abso-fucking-lutely have to,” Roy growled, a smile still in his voice despite the eyebrows he was giving Jamie.

That was all the warning Jamie got before Roy wrecked his shit. 

One hand went to Jamie’s hips, kneading like he was baking fucking bread or some shit. The other hand spidered over Jamie’s tummy, which was arguably worse.

“ROHOHOHOHOHOHOY,” Jamie screeched, tossing his head back, a smile splitting his face.

“Fucking what?”

“TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES.”

“I’d fucking well hope so,” Roy said, ruching up Jamie’s shirt in one smooth motion and scribbling across bare skin. “You’d better get used to this, cause we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“SHIHIHIHIHIHIHIT,” Jamie cursed, shaking his head back and forth.

“No? No, we’re not going to be here for a while? Or no, you can’t handle any more tickles? Cause I’m about to prove you wrong on both accounts,” Roy said as the hand squeezing Jamie’s hip moved down to torture his thigh instead.

Somehow, Roy’s growly voice saying ‘tickles’ made it tickle infinitely more. Jamie was no stranger to being tickled - since it was no longer ok to hit him, his teammates had to find other ways to get him to shut his mouth. But Roy was on another fucking level. And Jamie was losing his goddamn mind.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE,” Jamie was not above begging.

“You want to see something that always gets Phoebe?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHO!”

“Too bad,” Roy said, and leaned down to blow a fucking raspberry above Jamie’s belly button.

In the tiny part of his brain that wasn’t going insane from the tortuous sensations, Jamie imagined telling his 10 year old self that one day he’d be lying down in a park in fucking Amsterdam, getting the absolute shit tickled out of him by his childhood hero. If Jamie could have laughed any harder, he would have.

“ROHOHOHOHOY,” Jamie wailed.

“You ever gonna try that shit again?”

“PROHOHOHOBABLY,” Jamie answered.

“Yeah, knew that was probably too much to ask,” Roy grumbled. “You gonna try that shit in front of anybody else?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO,” Jamie promised.

“Fucking sure?”

“YEHEHEHEHEHEHEHES! PLEHEHEHEASE ROHOHOY!” Jamie begged, on the verge of insanity.

“Alright,” Roy said, and finally ceased his tickling.

Jamie curled up in a ball, tugging his shirt back down. He wiped the tears from his face, still giggling.

Roy ruffled Jamie’s hair. “Come on. I’m going to ride a bike tonight even if I blow out my other fucking knee.”

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

Heavy coat... snow pants... winter hat... extra underwear...

Ok, so maybe you were a bit neurotic. But it suited you just fine. You prided yourself on being a planner - the person who had everything the team could possibly need, including the items they never thought they would. It might not be a superpower, but it was damn close to one. Especially when you were paired on missions with scatterbrains like Tony or Bucky. They had a particular appreciation for your aptitude for organization.

Flashlight... first aid kit... snow goggles... alright, done.

Satisfied, you closed your bag and zippered it up, setting it aside for the morning. To say you were nervous was an understatement. Not only was this the first time you would be hiking through the icy mountains - a place you'd never really hoped to visit, given your hatred of the cold - it would also be your first mission being paired with the mysterious and brooding God of Mischief.

You and Loki hadn't crossed paths much since your initiation to the team. He tended to keep to himself, Thor had explained - it wasn't anything you had done in particular. So, you tried not to pay him any mind. But it was hard not to take it personally when he seemed to disappear the moment you entered a room.

Loki intrigued you. He had this air of elusiveness about him, and yet he had a regal confidence that announced his presence without him having to say a word. It was undebatable that he was unfathomably attractive. That stern, sharp jawline... those perfect cheekbones... and those eyes.

It was really a shame he was such a jerk.

When Fury called asking for two agents to trek out to the snow-peaked mountains to track down a hidden ancient magical artifact, you had offered up your services immediately. Being new to the team, you were desperately trying to carve out your place. This didn't seem the type of mission that required super powers or magic, simply grit and determination. And perhaps a tolerance for the cold, which you were certain you could figure out along the way.

No one else seemed keen on partaking in this particular mission. In all fairness, Steve and Bucky had just come back from Berlin three days ago and were still pretty battered, and Tony and Bruce were on the cusp of a breakthrough with developing a retractable hook shot that could fit inside the standard belts on most of the heroes' outfits. And the others? Well... they just hated the cold.

It was Thor who had volunteered Loki. As a frost giant, Loki had a tolerance to subthermal temperatures unmatched by anyone else on the team. It only made sense that he would go along on this particular mission. Loki, of course, had no interest in helping Fury with anything. But, it was hard to argue with the stubborn SHIELD director when he suggested that perhaps Loki would prefer to serve time in a high-security cell for his prior crimes against Earth, given how uninterested he seemed in helping pay recompense by assisting the Avengers.

You had no idea how Loki felt about this development, outside of the fact that he quite obviously didn't want to go in the first place. The fact that he would be paired with you hadn't even arisen in the conversation - he was too busy scolding Thor for having opened his mouth and daring suggest he actually contribute to SHIELD's endeavors. Perhaps he had forgotten he'd have a partner in this at all.

You found out soon enough exactly how he felt.

Late that evening, on your way back to your bedroom from the common room after finally deciding you might be able to fall asleep, you heard loud voices from behind a door as you walked past. You thought nothing of it at first, having grown accustomed to the rambunctious shouting of the various tower inhabitants, but the familiar baritone timbre made you pause and listen. The door wasn't completely closed, so it technically wasn't eavesdropping... at least, that's what you told yourself as you crept closer to the crack in the door to listen to the conversation.

"Loki - for the last time, I'm not going to apologize for volunteering you for this!" Thor sounded frustrated, almost exasperated, as though he'd been arguing about this all evening. "Use your common sense, brother! Look me in the eye and tell me you are not the perfect choice to go on this mission."

"I am well aware of my heritage, Thor," Loki spat. "No need to continuously remind me of such."

"Then why are you so angry about going? This should be child's play for you."

"I did not sign up to babysit a mortal, Thor."

You bristled at his words. Babysit? Who the hell did he think he was, talking about you that way?

"The young agent is more than capable," Thor argued. "You need not be concerned about that."

"Oh, is that right? Tell me, then. What power does this mortal possess?"

"She is clever and strong-willed. She need not bear magical powers to succeed on this mission."

Loki scoffed. "Strong-willed. Give her fifteen minutes out there in the snow and ice, and she'll be begging to return to the cabin."

You'd heard enough. Clenching your jaw, you stepped away from the door and stormed back to your own room, swallowing the burning feeling in your throat. No, you weren't going to let yourself cry over his words. You were going to hold your head high and face him gracefully the next morning. Or, perhaps you'd simply aim to make his life a living hell.

Maybe that was too petty.

The following morning, you were the first to arrive at the quinjet. You prided yourself on being punctual, so it made you only that much more satisfied when Loki wandered up the ramp to the jet ten minutes late.

"Morning," you stated flatly as he stepped into the jet cabin. He nodded stiffly before taking his seat across from you, leaning his head back against the headrest and stretching his legs out lazily in front of himself. It was as though he was purposely trying to spread out, make himself look larger and more intimidating. "Where is your bag?"

"I don't have one," he sneered.

"You're just going to wander out into the mountains with no supplies, then?"

"I don't need extra baggage." His eyes locked on yours as he said the word. You huffed, turning your gaze away from his. No need for idle chit-chat on this plane ride anyway. It was only a distraction.

You decided to get some rest - save your energy for when you truly needed it. Allowing your eyes to slip closed, you slowly drifted off to sleep. It wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in, sitting upright in a less-than-cushioned chair, but you knew you would thank yourself in the long run for the extra shut-eye.

"Get up."

It felt like only minutes had gone by when the deep, gravelly voice of your partner was urging you awake. Your eyes flew open to find Loki hovering over you, looking irritable as ever as he motioned for you to stand.

"We're here. I hope you had a lovely nap, mortal." There was a sarcastic bite to his tone that told you he didn't actually feel the sentiment he was expressing. With a sharp glare, you stood up and hoisted your bag onto your shoulder, disembarking the jet behind the ornery god.

The world you stepped out into was what you could only classify as a winter wonderland. A thick layer of untrodden snow coated the ground, reflecting the bright sunlight off its surface. The air certainly had an icy bite to it, but it was tolerable for the brief period between stepping off the jet ramp and heading across the field to the safe house you'd be using as a home base - a small, somewhat dilapidated-looking cabin with nothing of consequence around it.

The wooden front door to the cabin stuck as you tried to shove it open, forcing you to throw your weight into it to make it budge. Loki rolled his eyes, waving his hand with a flourish and opening the door the rest of the way with a burst of green light.

"Couldn't have done that before I bruised my shoulder on the door, could you?" you growled.

"I would have, if you hadn't been so eager to open it yourself."

Scowling, you stepped inside and fumbled along the wall for a light switch. Your fingers finally met the battered plastic of the switch cover, flipping on the lights and illuminating the interior of the cabin. It certainly left something to be desired. It appeared to be all one room, with the exception of a door in the back leading to what you could only hope was a separate bathroom. The floors and walls were made up of exposed, aging wood, with a couple of loose floorboards sticking up toward the far edge of the room. There was a small kitchenette with a fridge and a stove, and a dusty-looking futon sofa placed in front of the large fireplace - the only redeeming quality of this place.

"Where are we supposed to sleep?" you asked.

"I suspect there," Loki responded, gesticulating to the rolled-up sleeping bags in the corner. You let out an exasperated sigh.

"If I'd known, I'd have brought my own pillow," you muttered under your breath. You dropped your bag on the floor unceremoniously beside the sleeping bags in the corner, trudging across the room to inspect the mystery door. Much to your relief the door did lead into a small bathroom, although it wasn't anything spectacular, with its leaking sink and narrow shower stall.

"Are you finished? We really should be getting on with this."

"I have to put on my snow gear, then we can go." You crossed the room back to your bag, and Loki scoffed impatiently. It was just one gripe too many at this point. Whipping around to face him, you glared fiercely at the sullen god. "What the hell is your problem?!"

"My problem? You've been eyeing me as though I'm dirt from the moment I stepped on the quinjet," Loki shot back, squaring his shoulders.

"Oh, please. Don't act as if you didn't hate me from the start!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard you and Thor talking last night!" You rose to your full height, though Loki had at least a few inches on you. "Don't worry - you don't have to babysit me. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself!"

"So you say. But the moment things begin to get treacherous, this mission is going to fall on my shoulders to complete," Loki snapped back. "And not only that, but it will be my responsibility to make sure you make it back alive."

"Oh, so sorry my life is such a burden for you." You whirled around, crouching by your bag and digging forcefully through your belongings to drag out the winter gear you needed.

"That's not what I-"

"Save it, Loki. Let's just get through this mission and get home, alright?" You began throwing on your gear haphazardly, zipping up your coat and yanking your hat down over your head. Tugging on your gloves, you motioned to the door. "After you, prince."

Loki gave you a scalding look, nudging past you on his way out the door. You released a puff of air, a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, before following him outside into the chill mountain air.

The quinjet had taken off and headed back to headquarters already, it’s absence a stark reminder that you were truly stuck out here with Loki until you could finish this mission and call for your ride. Around the side of the cabin, SHIELD had left a snowmobile for easier travel. One snowmobile. You were relieved that you would at least not have to hike through the entire mountain range, but the idea of having to be that close to your Asgardian partner right now made you sick. Still, you were a professional. You weren't about to allow a petty rivalry between you and your partner to get in the way of the success of this mission.

"Do you want to drive, or do you want me to drive?" you asked, trying to extend some form of an olive branch by allowing him to choose.

"I'll drive." He swung his leg over the vehicle and parked himself on the front half of the seat, looking at you expectantly. Gritting your teeth, you mounted the back of the snowmobile, feeling around along the seat beneath you for something to hang onto that wasn't the prick seated in front of you. "I'm sorry to tell you, but unless you want to fall off the back of this the moment we start moving, you're going to have to suck it up and hold onto me. I understand how repulsed you must be by the idea."

"I'm not repulsed." You hesitantly wrapped your arms around his waist, holding on loosely. With an exasperated sigh, he suddenly grasped both your wrists and tugged to tighten your grip, eliciting a surprised squeak. A low, rumbling laugh emanated deep within his chest at your reaction.

"What's wrong? Never been this close to a man before?"

"Never one quite like you," you snarled. He merely laughed once again.

"Where should we start?"

"Let's head southeast. The cavern is supposedly somewhere to the east of here, and we've got to start somewhere."

"Fine."

The engine roared to life, and without another word, the snowmobile kicked off into gear, speeding across the snow-coated ground. You'd never admit it, but he was right to force you to hang on tighter - you felt yourself slide backward the slightest bit the moment the vehicle began to move.

A benefit of the deafening noise of the engine was you didn't need to pretend to make small talk with your infuriating partner. The most you said to him was to direct Loki toward any suspicious-looking crevices in the rocks that might house the artifact. Otherwise, you remained silent as Loki drove you both through the mountainous terrain.

An hour later, the wind began to kick up. Once bright and sunny, the sky gradually became coated with a gray covering of clouds. Pointing to a shallow-looking cavern inset into a rock wall, you urged Loki to pull over so you could evaluate the situation. Surprisingly, he obliged, slowing the snowmobile to a halt as you approached the opening to the cavern.

"The weather's starting to get bad. We'll need to turn back if it gets any worse," you warned, your eyes skimming over the ominous swell of gray clouds hanging overhead.

"You'll need to turn back," he corrected. "I would be just fine."

"Loki..." You pinched the bridge of your nose with a gloved hand in frustration. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, but even a frost giant shouldn't be wandering around in a blizzard. Not up here in the mountains."

"Since when did you become an expert on what a frost giant can and cannot do?" he sneered.

"Hey! I'm looking out for your well being, Loki! It's not a competition!"

"Of course it isn't. If it were, you'd have little hope of victory."

Throwing your hands up with a groan, you turned and walked into the cavern just to have an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. If you were lucky enough, maybe the artifact was hidden in here. Then you could get right to calling SHIELD to return with the quinjet and go home without having to spend a night with Mr. Holier-Than-Thou. Deep down, of course, you knew that would be too good to be true. But at least it gave you something to do that wasn't standing around with your jerk of a partner.

Sure enough, the cavern was decidedly unremarkable. You made sure to check every nook and crevice, just to be thorough (and perhaps to waste a little extra time). By the time you returned, the wind outside was whipping the snow up off the ground into bursts of flurries, and new snow had started to fall from the sky.

"Find anything?" Loki asked, leaning casually against the outer wall of the cavern.

"Nope. But we need to go back. Hate to burst your bubble, Your Highness."

Loki rolled his eyes, scowling. "Fine. Get on, then." He took his seat in front of the snowmobile and you hopped on behind him, not wasting any time being hesitant about grabbing hold of him in favor of getting the hell out of there before things got worse.

It was a damn good thing Loki was driving, because you could barely see a foot in front of you by the time you reached the cabin. The moment the vehicle stopped in front of the door, you staggered off the back and began to stumble toward the cabin with your forearm held out in front of your eyes to block the wind. Loki opened the door proactively this time, and the pair of you slipped inside before slamming it shut behind you.

You quickly shed your damp winter gear, digging through your bag for a warm change of clothes. Meanwhile, Loki was suddenly enveloped in a shimmer of green, the dampness vanishing from his attire leaving him looking warm and dry. He caught you watching him, shooting you a self-assured smirk and a wink as you gathered your own change of clothes in your arms. Rolling your eyes, you brought your outfit to the bathroom to change.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and start a fire in the fireplace?" you directed as you brushed past him.

"Ooh, yes ma'am," he shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. Choosing not to engage, you disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind you.

You returned wearing dry clothes, finding a relatively dust-free spot on the floor to lay out your wet attire to air dry. Loki, you suspected, had used magic to conjure up a fire, as the hearth was already roaring with a blazing flame. At least it meant you didn't have to focus so much on trying not to shiver, now that the cabin was warming up a bit. Shivering, you were certain, would equate to weakness in Loki's mind.

"We're going to need more firewood once there's a lull in the storm," you stated matter-of-factly. "We'll have to wait until the morning to go back out searching - need to make sure this band of bad weather has passed first before we get caught far from the cabin."

"Am I to assume I shall be the one collecting firewood?" Loki jeered. You squared your shoulders.

"I'm perfectly capable of cutting firewood. You can make us dinner if you'd prefer."

"Don't be ridiculous. I can cut firewood using magic. Don't waste your energy."

"Then why even bring it up?" You crossed your arms, shooting him an icy glare. "You know, Loki - it's gonna be a long few days if you can't manage to stop treating me like I'm useless."

"Then perhaps you should stop treating me as though I'm vile," he retorted, glowering right back.

"What are you talking about?! The only reason I don't like being around you is because you seem to have some problem with me!"

Loki laughed humorlessly. "Please. I've seen the wary side-eyed looks you send my way. You've been doing it ever since you came to live with this band of blundering misfits. Don't behave as though you're irreproachable."

You stared at him in confusion for a moment. "Loki - I only look at you that way because you've always made it a point to avoid me!"

"I avoid everyone. It isn't a sentiment I feel exclusively toward you."

"And yet, somehow you seem to tolerate the others for at least brief periods of time. But the moment you see me approach, you high-tail it out of the room!"

Loki sighed. "Clearly we're getting nowhere with this conversation. I'm going to collect that firewood. Fix us something to eat, if that is what you'd like." With that, he pivoted on his heel and stormed outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

It took everything in you not to scream out loud in an explosion of aggravation. He was infuriating. The nerve, turning this around and insinuating this bad blood was to be blamed on you.

You wrenched open the door to the refrigerator and poked around inside, just to have something to do with yourself besides stew over this. The selection left much to be desired. A few nearly-spoiled fruits, a jug of filtered water, a bag of shredded cheese that at least had an expiration date printed on it that was in the future. You shut the fridge and dug around in the cupboards, finding a box of dry pasta and an unopened can of tomato sauce. Wonderful. Pasta it is.

You hoped it was deemed acceptable enough for your ungrateful partner's taste.

Loki returned only ten minutes later, the door opening for a moment and allowing a swirling cloud of snow to blow inside before he slammed it shut behind him with his boot. You didn't bother looking at him as you fished out a pot from deep within the cupboard and filled it with tap water to boil the pasta. A loud clattering told you he'd dropped the stack of firewood on the floor next to the fireplace. Shutting off the tap, you transferred the pot from the sink to the stovetop and lit the gas burner to let the water boil.

"It seems, perhaps, we got off on the wrong foot." The proximity of Loki's voice startled you, realizing he was standing right behind where you were preparing dinner. You tried not to flinch, but knew you hadn't completely succeeded as you heard Loki utter an apology under his breath.

"You think we did?" You turned your head to glare at him out of the corner of your eye.

"I'm trying to clear the air. The least you could do is drop that bite in your tone."

You let out a breath. "You're right. Sorry."

"Thank you." He hovered over you as you opened the box of pasta and measured out what you thought might be enough for two servings. It was always impossible to tell with pasta. Not to mention you were cooking for a god. Who knew what the standard serving size of pasta was for a god?

"You think we can put aside our differences? At least for the next few days?" you asked.

"If you can promise to stop looking at me as if I'm dirt, I suppose I can refrain from commenting on your... mortal limitations."

"If that's as good as it's going to get between us, then fine. Sounds great."

"Wonderful." Loki left your side, pacing toward the fireplace to stoke the fire while you continued cooking. It wasn't much, but at least you didn't feel the desire to wring his neck any longer.

The two of you sat down at the small, time-worn dining table to eat your meager dinner. Outside, the wind howled and heavy snow pelted the roof, setting the soundtrack to your awkward meal. Loki was silent as he ate, but at least he wasn't complaining. Still, the silence became too much for you. So, you did the unthinkable, and attempted to make small talk with the most stand-offish member of the Avengers tower.

"So... how long have you been staying with your brother and the rest of the team?" you asked between bites. Loki's eyes flitted up from his plate to meet yours, brows raised in confusion at the idea that you'd even consider taking an interest in him.

"Too long," he responded finally. You furrowed your brow, prepared to scold him for not at least making an effort to exchange pleasantries, but he continued. "It isn't exactly pleasant living with a team of heroes who once were your sworn enemy."

Your expression softened, then. That wasn't something you'd even really considered. In the time you'd known Loki, he had been on the right side of the line between good and evil, albeit not very far from the border. But the others - well, you could only imagine what they thought of him, after going through everything they did.

"I see." You were at a loss for anything better to say. A heavy silence fell over the two of you once again. Unwilling to give up so soon, you finally spoke. "Have you ever gone on any other missions before?"

"Once. Thor begged me to accompany him and his little friends."

"You don't sound enthused.”

“Was it that obvious?” He stabbed his fork into his pasta with perhaps more force than was necessary. “Thor was the only one who actually wanted me to come. The others… let’s just say they would have been much happier in my absence.”

“Well they aren’t here now,” you offered, a feeble attempt to lighten his mood. “It’s just me.”

“You haven’t exactly enjoyed my company thus far either.”

You fell silent once again. This time, your mind was buzzing with this newfound understanding of Loki’s attitude. It was a front, a wall he built around himself to protect him from the sharp daggers sent his way by the unfriendly gazes of the others. They stung him more than he was willing to let on.

Still, it didn’t excuse his attitude toward you. You hadn’t done or said anything to warrant his rudeness. Although, you supposed that for someone who only received unfriendly looks, even the mildest of wary gazes might start to burn.

"So... how does someone like you - someone with no discernable powers, with nothing particularly noteworthy about your physique - end up working as an agent of SHIELD?" Loki asked.

"Um, rude."

"It was meant to be a joke."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

Loki rolled his eyes. "You mortals are so irascible." You glared at him. "In all seriousness - how did you come to find yourself working for SHIELD?"

"Obviously, as you've so astutely pointed out, I don't have any special powers. But the Avengers already have plenty of brawn and magic. The reason they hired me was for my intellect, not my physicality." Loki tilted his head, urging you to elaborate. "I was top of my class in the forensics program at my university. SHIELD approached me shortly after I graduated and got me working behind the scenes, teasing out the solutions to unsolved mysteries of the mystical arts and the magical artifacts they'd sequestered from falling into the wrong hands. After a while, I got bored working in an office. Fury himself set me up with a training program to build on the physical skills required to be a SHIELD agent."

"You chose to face the dangers that exist in all these Nine Realms with nothing but your 'intellect' and a bit of battle simulation training?" Loki appeared skeptical, which only made you sit up straighter as you nodded.

"That, and a whole lot of grit and determination." Loki gazed wordlessly at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Something else to say?"

"Just that you're either quite impressive or quite foolish."

"That was almost a compliment."

"Hardly."

"I'll take what I can get." You rose from the table, scooping up your empty plate and taking Loki's as well. "Why don't you go tend to the fire while I clean up?"

Loki looked put out by the fact that you were ordering him around, but he didn't say anything as he stood and strode over to the fireplace to do as you asked. As you washed the dinner plates, you reflected on the fact that you'd actually held a conversation with the sullen god for once. Aside from the clear disregard for your feelings with his supposed 'joke,' it wasn't actually all that unpleasant. If nothing else, perhaps the pair of you wouldn't fight all evening.

There wasn't much to do in the cabin, and the blizzard was unrelenting. Loki conjured up a book out of nowhere and sat lounging on the futon in silence as he read. Entertainment was one thing you hadn't planned on needing, so you spent most of the evening researching a map of the area that SHIELD had provided you to assess for possible locations for the hidden artifact. You marked a few possible locations, figuring you could review them with Loki in the morning before setting out on your renewed search.

Shortly after nightfall, you decided it would be best to turn in for the evening and get some rest. Loki remained seated on the sofa, reading by the light of the fire as you unrolled your sleeping bag and balled up one of your sweatshirts to use as a makeshift pillow. You slid between the layers of the sleeping bag and zippered it around yourself, sitting up a bit with the opening of the thick fabric bunched around your midsection.

"Are you going to get some sleep?" you asked, feeling a bit awkward.

"I don't sleep much," he replied flatly, not glancing up from his novel. "No need to worry about me."

"Oh. Alright." You lay back down, pulling the sleeping bag up to your shoulders as you rested your head against the sweatshirt-turned-pillow. Do I say goodnight? Would that be weird? Taking a breath, you decided just to do the amicable thing and say it. "G'night."

"Goodnight." He didn't sound overly enthused, but he didn't sound annoyed either. At least he couldn't say you weren't trying to be friendly. Turning onto your side, you let your eyes slip closed and tried to calm your mind enough to get some sleep.

* * *

The following morning, you awoke to the vibration of your communications device on the floor beside your head. Dragging one arm out from inside the warmth of the sleeping bag, you fumbled around blindly with your hand until your fingers closed around the device. Without standard cell phone service up in the mountains, this could only be one person calling.

"Director Fury... *ahem* to what do I owe the pleasure?" you muttered groggily.

"Agent." His voice was much too... demanding for this hour of the morning. "I have good news and bad news."

"Let's go with the good news, then." You sat up, glancing around until your eyes fell on Loki. He must have finally gone to bed, as he was resting inside his own sleeping bag on the opposite side of the room. The sight was almost adorable, in a weird way.

"The team has tracked down the exact coordinates of the artifact."

"That's... great news, sir!"

Loki began to stir at your outburst, rolling onto his back and sitting up to glare at you. So much for adorable.

"You may not think so when I give you the bad news."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"There's a deadline now to find this thing."

"I don't understand." You frowned, brow furrowed in confusion. Loki noticed your perturbed expression, sliding himself out of his sleeping bag to wander over and listen in to the conversation. You put Fury on speakerphone.

"Turns out a small faction of wannabe Zealots remained at large after Strange managed to drive off Dormamu. We gained the intel on the exact location of the artifact because they discovered its whereabouts. And they're headed to sequester it. Today."

A swirling gust of wind blew against the walls of the cabin outside. Peering through the small window by the door, the only thing you could see was white powder spiraling through the air.

"Fury - we're in the middle of a blizzard," you informed nervously. "Do you think they'll come out in this?"

"You've heard the stories, agent. Nothing - and I mean nothing - will stand in their way. I'm counting on you. Don't screw up."

He hung up the phone without another word. Loki had stood before you could even look at him, changing into his leather armor from his sleep tunic with a wave of his hand. You nearly tumbled out of your sleeping bag trying to scramble to your feet.

"I'll plot out the coordinates he sent over on the map," you stated, gathering your winter gear. Loki spun around and looked at you incredulously.

"You can't possibly think it's a good idea for you to go out in this weather."

"Yeah, well, Fury didn't exactly leave us much choice. And if the enemy is truly on their way, he's not wrong. We've got to get going."

You stooped down to slip on your snow boots and tie the laces. Suddenly, you were interrupted by a hand clasping tightly around your upper arm, whipping you around.

"You're not coming with me. I'm going alone." Loki's gaze was cold, unwavering. You bristled at his harshness.

"Absolutely not. I'm coming with you."

"Did I ask you, agent? You're staying here." Loki released your arm, striding toward the door. This time, you caught his arm.

"Loki! Stop treating me like I'm a burden!!" The volume of your voice surprised even you. In any case, it got Loki to pause in his warpath toward the door. "I can do this! You need me as much as I need you!"

He scoffed. "What need have I for a mortal? You'll only slow me down."

"You need someone to think logically while you... stomp around all high and mighty acting reckless!!" You took a confident step forward, pointing your index finger at him threateningly. "You might have the skill, but you sure as hell don't have the patience to get this done right!"

"You'll surely die out there in this weather!"

"Then I'll die a hero!"

"You'll die a fool!" Loki wrenched his arm from your grasp, whirling around and stomping into a corner in a fit of frustration. When he turned around, his expression was less angry and more fretted. "What in Valhalla are you trying to prove?? You know as well as I this is a dangerous task!"

"I'm not trying to prove anything! I'm committed to the mission, and I intend to see it through from start to finish!" You returned to lacing your boots. "I knew what I was signing up for when I joined SHIELD. You don't have to protect me. I'm well aware of the risks."

Loki sighed exasperatedly. For the briefest of moments, his eyes softened as he gazed upon you, almost forlornly. "We're wasting time arguing about this. If you want to come, fine. I'm not going to stop you."

"Thank you."

Silently, you finished adorning your winter gear, trying not to allow the anxiety of what you were about to do to overcome you. The coordinates on the map were only a thirty-minute snowmobile ride away, perhaps an hour in this weather. And you had prepared for the icy terrain. You were ready for this.

The moment you stepped outside, you began to second-guess your decision.

The blizzard was worse than it had been yesterday, if that were at all possible. A gust of wind nearly made you stumble as you made your way toward what you assumed must be where the snowmobile was parked. You couldn't be sure - the air around you was completely white-washed. All you could focus on was following Loki, who clearly seemed to still be capable of seeing at least a few feet in front of him, and getting on that snowmobile.

"I need you to actually hold on this time. As if your life depends on it."

Because it might, you thought as you mounted the back of the snowmobile and wrapped your arms tight around Loki without hesitation this time. A roar of the engine, a cloud of snow, and the two of you were careening across the treacherous landscape.

The wind whipped your hair chaotically around your face as you traveled, strands slapping your cheeks like sharp little needles stinging your skin. You ducked to keep your face hidden behind Loki in a feeble effort to block some of the headwind with his torso. A sharp left turn took you skirting just barely around a massive boulder that you didn't see until you were zooming past it. You said another silent thank you to the fact that Loki was seated in the driver's seat of this vehicle right now.

At long last, the snowmobile skidded to a stop as you reached the designated coordinates. Your wind-whipped skin stung with the sharp cold of the snow billowing up into your face. You had made it. The official halfway mark of your journey lay before you - all you needed to do now was find it.

"Do you see anything?" Your voice was nearly swallowed by the blizzard gales despite shouting at the top of your lungs.

"Nothing - keep looking." Loki stepped heavily along the rock wall, feet buried up to his ankles in the snowdrifts that had been forced to take shape by the oppressive storm. You pressed a gloved hand against the wall, using it as a guide to carefully step in the opposite direction of Loki in search of any unusual crevice in the jagged surface. As your palm trailed along the stone, you noticed a looser pile of boulders jutting out from the wall.

"Loki!" you all but screamed. "Here!!"

The crunching of his boots in the snow was barely audible over the whistling gusts as he approached your location. When he'd made it close enough to see what you were referring to, he nodded.

"This is it."

“We have to figure out how to get inside.”

Loki chuckled almost pityingly. “Please. That won’t be a challenge.”

A green gleam of light shone through the sheets of white snow flinging through the air. A sudden feeling of panic washed over you as you realized what he planned to do.

"Loki!! Wait!" You glanced up, squinting just enough to see the boulders stacked well over both of your heads. "Don't-"

It was too late to warn him. The light flung from his hands and blasted into the rocky wall, blasting a hole in the rubble to reveal a cavern. For once in your life, you didn't think first before diving into your partner, looping both arms around him and tackling him to the ground just as a rockslide began rumbling and echoing through the mountains.

Loki landed hard in the snow, and you crashed down with him. Your upper body stretched diagonally across his torso where you'd landed, head pressed against his chest as you shut your eyes tight and awaited your impending death. All around you, heavy cracking of rock smashing against rock made your ears ring as the boulders tumbled down the wall. You shouted out in pain as one landed on the back of your thigh. A scattering of smaller rocks and pebbles rained down into the snow, and then just as quickly as it had started, it was all over.

You rolled off of Loki onto your back, feeling somewhat self-conscious all of a sudden despite the stabbing pain in your leg. The boulder hadn't crushed your limb, thank gods, but the ragged tear in your pants with the slightest tinge of red seeping through told you it had left a substantial gash in its wake. It was impossible to know without visualizing it how deep the laceration might be. But you knew hypothermia and bleeding were a deadly combination, so you had to get moving and get out of here fast. So, you began to sit up and pick yourself off the ground, gritting your teeth through the sharp sting in your leg.

"Why would you do that??" Loki demanded gazing at you as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"I s-saved your life! The least you could do is th-thank me!" you growled, starting to shiver as the snow seeped into your clothes. Loki shook his head, scrambling to his feet and ushering you inside the hole he blasted in the wall.

Inside the cavern, there was a hollow muffling of the storm that cleared your head just slightly. Despite the darkness, there was still better visibility in here than in the pure white wall of snow swirling in the air outside. You grasped the cavern wall as you limped into the shelter of the hollowed stone.

"You're injured."

"No shit, Sherlock." You leaned your back against the stone wall and slid carefully to the floor, allowing yourself a moment's reprieve to rest while sheltered from the harsh elements. Loki crouched down in front of you, brow furrowed in what you might have mistaken for worry had you not known him better.

"Allow me to take a look."

You shifted to lean on your hip so he could see the back of your leg, watching him warily out of the corner of your eye as he assessed the damage.

"I can probably heal it, but I can't do so without getting a better look at it."

"It'll have to w-wait until we get b-back," you stated resolutely. For once, Loki agreed with you. He knew as well as you did that you had to keep your layers on to prevent a dangerous drop in body temperature.

"Why would you do that?"

He wasn't shouting this time as he asked the same question he had moments ago. If anything, his voice was shallow. Meek. Quite uncharacteristic for the normally self-assured Asgardian.

"I saw the r-rocks up above. I t-tried to warn you, b-but it was too late."

"Clever mortal." Perhaps it was the blood loss, but he almost said the word as though it were a fond nickname. "I meant to ask, why would you save me?"

"You're my partner. We're in this together. I wasn't going to just let you get crushed under a rock slide."

Loki's blue-green eyes shimmered as though he had more questions, but he didn't press the issue. He merely tilted his chin down in a nod of thanks. You returned his gesture, your way of saying 'you're welcome.'

"Go see if you can find the artifact. I'm going to rest my leg for a minute before we have to head back in this mess."

Loki stood up, gazing at you for a moment longer than was necessary before turning and vanishing into the darkness of the cavern. You leaned your head back against the wall behind you and took in slow, deep breaths. The idea of going back out in this was daunting, but you knew if you remained here for too long you would catch your death from the cold. A brief rest wouldn’t hurt, you decided.

This worried, uncertain, dare you say grateful Loki was not the god you’d grown accustomed to over the last thirty-six hours. This Loki was certainly more bearable. Charming, even.

Ok, so maybe the cold was making you delirious.

Loki returned moments later with a stone slab in his hand. It was an unassuming object, but you felt the energy coming off it the moment it came within a ten-foot radius of where you sat.

“You found it.” Your voice was softer than usual, and Loki seemed to notice. He made the tablet disappear into whatever magical void pocket he had access to, pacing over to you and taking a seat next to you on the floor.

“You’re shivering.”

“Wow. Y-you should have b-b-been a detective. Y-you’re just f-f-full of ast-t-t… astute observations.”

Loki cracked what definitely looked like a smile, which only reinforced the fact that you we’re definitely becoming delirious. “I’ll let that one slide, but only because you’re injured.”

“Wow. G-g-going soft, L-Loki?”

“Don’t push it.” He glanced down at your leg, where more blood had seeped through your pants. “We have to get you back to the cabin.”

“Can’t I just r-rest for another m-minute?” It came out more whiny than you’d have liked.

“Thirty seconds. Then we get moving.” You let your eyes slip closed, and Loki reached over and shook your shoulder. “Eyes open. Don’t go sleeping on me.”

“B-But I’m exhausted…” Your eyes fluttered closed again, defying Loki’s orders.

“Alright.” Loki stood up, bending down to slide an arm around your waist and hoist you to your feet. “Thirty seconds is up. Let’s go.”

“Ugh. F-fine.” You allowed him to prop you against his side, throwing your arm around his neck for added stability as you hobbled toward the mouth of the cavern.

Even without the searing pain in your leg, you would have felt unsteady on your feet as Loki led you to the snowmobile. The wind stung the bare patches on your face as you stepped back out into the blizzard, and instinctively you tried to shrink back into the cavern. Loki wouldn't allow it, pressing forward and muttering something you couldn't quite hear over the howling wind.

He guided you to sit down first, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he carefully helped lower you into the seat. You were shivering violently at this point from the cold, unable to control it as the frigid air seeped into your bones. You'd experienced cold weather before, but nothing as cold as this. Deep down, you knew Loki was right to be forcing you to keep moving - your only chance of survival was to get back to the cabin and rewarm your core temperature. But the icy wind was clouding your mind, and you were desperate in that moment just to get back into the dry cavern and take a nap.

Loki slid onto the seat behind you this time, leaning forward and reaching around you to grasp the handles and drive while still holding you steady. You didn't have the mental capacity to feel awkward or flustered by his closeness. His body heat was seeping into your back where he leaned against you to reach the handles, and primal instinct told you to accept it without question.

You barely remembered the drive back to the cabin. You knew you never lost consciousness, but you were in a sort of fuzzy state of mind as your body temperature continued to drop. It was probably for the best that you weren't fully cognizant of the borderline reckless driving maneuvers Loki was performing to get back as fast as possible.

The blizzard was wild as ever when you arrived at the safe house cabin. The vigorous shivering had slowed, which was a relief considering you were becoming more and more exhausted with each passing second. You were vaguely aware of Loki parking the snowmobile and dismounting it, then scooping you up effortlessly in his arms before carrying you inside. You didn't even protest. You just wanted to sleep.

Inside the cabin, the silence was deafening in comparison to the ear-splitting whistling wind outside that you'd been subjected to for the last hour and a half. The lack of snow slapping against your cheeks and dampening your clothes further was such a relief that your eyes slipped closed before Loki had even put you down.

"Hey! Stay with me. You can't sleep now," he barked, lowering you down onto the futon before busying himself restarting the fire in the fireplace. Your eyes snapped open briefly, then began to slide closed again of their own accord. You felt, more than saw, the fire roar to life in the hearth, the warmth bursting from the flames and warming your face. A hand clapped down on your shoulder and shook you with enough force to force your eyes open once again. "Talk to me. You need to stay awake."

"Ok..." you slurred groggily. Survival instinct was urging you to keep your eyes open, but it was just so damn difficult, and sleep sounded so wonderful right at this moment. "What now?"

"We need to get you out of these wet clothes first." Loki sounded uncertain for the first time since the start of this mission. It might have been the hypothermic delirium, but you swore you saw a tinge of red dusting his cheeks. Normally, you'd be mortified by what he was clearly suggesting, but you didn't have the energy to concern yourself with that sort of overwhelming emotion right now.

"S'okay. M'wearing c-compression shorts... should b-be dry..."

"Er, great."

You started fumbling with the zipper to your coat with trembling fingers, fighting to get a grip on the small piece of metal until Loki seemingly grew impatient and nudged your hands out of the way to do it himself. He was uncharacteristically gentle with you, carefully guiding your arms out of the sleeves and tossing the coat aside. He assisted with tugging the hem of your sweatshirt up over your head and removing it, leaving only a thinner T-shirt underneath it, which also seemed to be somewhat damp.

"I... you'll need to..." He gave you a look of awkward discomfort, gesturing to your shirt. You pointed to your bag with a tremulous hand.

"I h-h-have a d-dry shirt in m-m-my bag over th-there," you urged. Relieved for a reason to leave your side while you got to work removing your shirt, he knelt down beside your bag and pulled out one of your remaining T-shirts. His eyes flitted over to you briefly to ensure you were alright, barely suppressing a grin when he saw you sitting there with your shirt pressed against your front to hide yourself from him. He handed you the dry shirt, turning away until you pulled it on over your head and threaded your arms through the sleeves.

"How is your injured leg feeling?" he asked.

"Stings," you mumbled, already beginning to slide your torn snow pants down your hips. Underneath that you had worn tight fleece sweatpants, also torn by the boulder incident.

"Woah, hang on there," he stopped you, beginning to unlace your snow boots that were still on your feet. "You need to remove these first."

"R-right." You bent your uninjured leg to unlace your other boot as Loki tugged the first off carefully. Your socks, too, were completely soaked through, your feet numb. Loki helped to remove those as well. Normally you'd have had qualms about him touching your feet, but you didn't much care at the moment.

He allowed you to shakily slip both layers of pants down over your bottom, careful not to accidentally push down the waistband of your shorts, before he helped to tug the pants legs the rest of the way off.

"Wow, L-Loki. N-n-normally I d-don't let m-m-men undress me without at l-least taking me on a d-d-date."

Loki rolled his eyes at your jest, although you were pleased to see his cheeks turn redder at the insinuation. This was completely and utterly awkward in every way - humor was your method of deflecting. He would just have to put up with it. After all, it was him who was getting the benefit of seeing you sitting there in just a T-shirt and skin-tight compression shorts. He had to suffer at least a little in all of this.

"You're still shivering," he observed, changing the subject.

"Mmhmm... m-m-means I'm w-w-warming up th-though," you explained. "It's when the sh-sh-shivering st-stops that y-y-you're in t-t-trouble."

"Come closer to the fire," he ordered.

"M'fine right here- L-Loki!" Unwilling to take no for an answer, he wasted no time in scooping you up off the futon sofa and placing you on the floor directly in front of the fireplace. You'd never admit it, but it was a lot more comfortable. "J-j-jerk."

"If me being a 'jerk' helps keep you alive, I'll accept it." He shifted to kneel beside you, motioning for you to lean on your hip so he could better visualize the gash on your leg. It was a jagged-looking laceration just above the back of your knee, not deep enough to reach the tendons in your leg but certainly deep enough to cause quite a bit of bleeding. "I should be able to heal this. It may sting a bit."

You nodded solemnly, gritting your teeth as he let his hand hover close to the wound, a green glow emanating from his palm. The sudden shooting pain made you gasp, earning you an apologetic look from the Asgardian as he placed his other hand on your knee to keep you still. As he worked his magic, the pain gradually ebbed away.

"I'm s-sorry about all th-this." Your voice was hushed, ashamed. "You w-were right... I was j-j-just a b-burden to you."

Loki's blue-green eyes shot up from the wound to meet yours, a sternness behind them. "You did your part. You prevented me from meeting an untimely death due to my own reckless actions."

"But I h-hurt myself d-d-doing it. Now y-you feel responsible for m-m-me."

"Please. The least I can do is take care of you after what you did for me." He averted his gaze then, returning his attention to your wound. The air between you was tense, but in a much different way than it had been during the earlier parts of your stay. "I... thank you. For saving my life."

"Thank you f-for saving m-m-mine." His eyes raised to look at your face without tilting his head up, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Don't thank me yet. You're still hypothermic."

"I'll b-b-be fine."

The glow around Loki's hand faded as he finished his work, lifting his hand to reveal intact, uninjured skin where the gash had once been. He released your knee with his other hand, tracing his fingers along the path of the prior wound. You jerked your leg away from his tender touch, earning a look of confusion.

"Still hurts?" he asked. You shook your head, looking away to hide the blush forming on your face.

"T-tickled. Sorry."

"Ah."

You ventured a quick glance, noting the gleam in his eye as he filed that bit of information away in his mind, and wondered if you should have lied to the trickster god. Still, he didn't act on it as he rose to his feet and wandered into the kitchen, pulling two mugs out from the cupboards.

"You should drink something warm," he recommended. "What would you like?"

"Is there h-h-hot chocolate m-mix?"

He dug around in the cupboard a moment, pulling out a can and holding it up for you to see. "Is that what this disgusting sugar-laden powder is?"

"Y-yes. And it's n-n-not disgusting."

"Whatever you say, mortal. Just tell me what to do to make it."

You directed him to heat some water on the stove and simply pour the hot water into the mugs with the mix and stir. He opted to make himself tea instead, muttering something about 'ridiculous Midgardian inventions.' He couldn't possibly have heated the water so quickly without using magic, because only a minute later he was heading back with the two filled mugs, handing one to you. The ceramic burned against your ice cold fingers, and you immediately retracted your hand from the mug before he let go of it.

"Sorry." He instilled his magic into your mug, and the steam faded a bit as the liquid cooled slightly. Turning the mug, he was careful to hand it to you so you could grasp the handle.

"C-c-could you warm m-me up l-l-like that?" you asked jestingly.

"Unfortunately, no. That sort of sorcery is dangerous when performed incorrectly."

"Damn." You slowly sipped the warm liquid, wincing as it passed over your frozen lips but sighing as it warmed your throat. "Thanks for the hot ch-chocolate."

"It was hardly a challenge to make." He took a seat on the floor beside you, sipping his tea. The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional gust of wind blasting against the cabin walls. This silence wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as the tense moments the pair of you shared toward the beginning of your journey here. A question had been nagging at the back of your mind, and you finally built up the courage to ask.

"When I m-moved to the tower... aside from the f-fact you thought I hated you... what m-made you so c-cold toward me?"

"You sound ridiculous with your teeth chattering like that."

"And you're d-dodging the qu-question." You remained firm in your resolve, gazing at him with a tilt of your head in wait of an answer. Recognizing you weren't dropping this, he sighed.

"You were a blank slate. You had experienced none of my past treachery as the others did." His fingers tightened a bit around the handle of his mug. "I suppose I was afraid to ruin that by allowing you to form an opinion of me, by interacting with you. Obviously, my avoidance of you didn't help matters."

"Wh-what were y-you afraid I w-w-would think?"

Loki grimaced at your probing question. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the most pleasant company."

"You weren't. B-before, at least. N-n-now, you're n-not so b-b-bad." You caught his eye and offered him a quivery grin, the best you could muster through your aggressive shivering. He let out a breath of a laugh through his nose, smiling weakly.

"Finish your liquid sugar. You should really get some rest."

"Oh, n-n-now I can s-sleep??" you griped jokingly.

"What you were trying to do earlier was slip into a coma. Now that I know you're improving, yes. You should sleep."

"Careful. I m-m-might start t-to think y-you care about me." You intended it as a joke, but Loki suddenly looked away from you, busying himself with cleaning up his mug. Odd.

As you finished the last sip of hot chocolate, Loki dragged your sleeping bag from your side of the room over to where you sat.

"You should sleep here by the fire. You're still clearly hypothermic."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me - I'm just getting tired of listening to your teeth chattering."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he shot you a wink and a smirk, letting you know it was a joke. With a shake of your head, you turned to unzip your sleeping bag, sliding inside the fleece fabric and zipping it around you.

"You're not g-gonna just sit there and w-watch me sleep, are y-you?" you asked with a side-eyed glare in his direction. Exasperated, Loki wandered over to his own sleeping bag and sat down on top of it, facing the opposite direction.

"Better?"

"Much. Th-thanks." You lay your head down against your makeshift pillow, closing your eyes and willing yourself to stop shivering long enough to fall asleep.

Never had you experienced such a deep-settling chill in your bones. Even lying directly in front of a blazing flame, wrapped in a fleece-lined sleeping bag wearing dry clothes, you still felt as if your insides were frozen. In a paradoxical way, it burned your skin as you began to gradually warm from the surface inward. You tossed and turned, trying desperately to get comfortable, but no matter how you shifted, you couldn't ignore the bitter cold keeping you awake.

You heard Loki release a sigh of vexation, followed by shifting of fabric against fabric and then heavy footsteps drawing nearer to you. Opening your eyes, you nearly jumped in surprise to find him crouched in front of you with a worried expression plastered to his face.

He reached out and laid the back of his hand against your cheek gently, wincing at the chill of your skin against his. Gods, his skin was so warm. It was ironic, really - him being a frost giant and all. It felt wonderful against your icy cheek. You leaned into his touch without even thinking - only following the innate desire to feel his warmth, and perhaps to feel a kind and tender touch against your skin after such a harrowing ordeal.

"You're still ice cold," he mumbled.

"Mm..." You let your eyes slip closed, letting out a tiny whine when he removed his hand from your cheek. Your eyes flew right back open when you heard the sound of the zipper on your sleeping bag, glancing at him in confusion. "What are you d-doing?"

"You're not warming fast enough," he responded plainly, sliding into the sleeping bag with you without further explanation.

"Oh - Loki, y-you d-don't have t-to... Oh. A-alright then."

Ignoring your attempted protests, he had settled in beside you inside your sleeping bag, zipping it closed around the both of you. If you had enough heat in your body to blush, you were certain your cheeks would be burning furiously.

And then he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest, and it just felt so damn good to feel his body heat against your own body, that you didn't even care how absolutely outlandish this situation had just become. An embarrassingly provocative-sounding moan bubbled up in your throat as you finally felt warm enough to stop shivering, and you didn't care one bit what Loki might think of it as you let your eyes flutter closed once again. You were vaguely aware of a throaty chuckle emanating from the god who had hijacked your sleeping bag, amused at your reaction but clearly not put off, as he merely wrapped his arms around you tighter. At last, you finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It had been so long since you’d fallen asleep in the arms of another. The last person you fell asleep like this with was a former boyfriend of yours with whom you had an established relationship. And he certainly wasn’t trying to prevent you from slipping into a coma from hypothermia.

You barely knew Loki. In fact, only twenty-four hours ago you thought you hated each other. Everything about this should have felt awkward and uncomfortable - simply a necessary awkward situation to keep from freezing to death.

And yet, you hadn’t slept this comfortably in years.

As you traversed the blurred line between consciousness and unconsciousness the next morning, your mind began spinning. Now that you were warm, you were lucid enough to recognize the undeniable feeling of bliss when you realized Loki’s arms were still wrapped around you. It was an entirely unexpected feeling, which sent a wave of panic through your brain.

Were you even friends at this point? Only hours ago you were bickering with every attempted conversation. Though, you supposed that was only because you misunderstood one another. Now that you’d cleared the air, there hadn’t been any more fighting. And really, going through a life-or-death experience with someone had a curious way of accelerations a relationship between two people.

But was it friendship you felt? You’d never felt this peaceful in a friend’s arms. Never this happy either. And certainly never this conflicted.

You stirred slightly, and suddenly Loki’s grasp around you loosened just a bit to allow you to turn onto your back. He was awake already - seemingly had been for some time, as he didn’t have the drowsy glaze over his eyes that you were certain was currently in yours.

“Feeling better?” he asked quietly. His voice was low and gravelly, laden with the remnants of sleep as he spoke in your ear. It made you shiver.

“Yes.” You gave him a sleepy smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. I know it must be… uncomfortable for you.”

“You saved my life, I saved yours. We’re even.” He turned his gaze away from you. “And it wasn’t… exceedingly uncomfortable.”

With your body temperature back within a physiologic range, so returned your blush reflex. You wished you could read what he was thinking at this moment. The fact that he hadn’t let go of you despite the fact you were clearly feeling better was both flustering and confusing.

What else does one say to the guy... god... who willingly snuggled up to you to stave off hypothermia after a tumultuous thirty-six hours that started off with you snapping at each other? The whole thing sounded absurd even in your head, and yet here you were sharing a sleeping bag that was clearly only meant for one person. There is no social protocol for this. So you did what you always did, and turned to humor to deflect.

"I didn't know gods snored."

"I beg your pardon?? I do not snore."

Grasping the familiarity of this friendly bantering, you grinned cheekily. "I beg to differ. You definitely did. Rather loudly, in fact."

Ok, so maybe loudly was a bit of an exaggeration, but you were telling him the truth.

His eyes narrowed, and his grip on you tightened. "I prevent you from freezing to death, and this is the thanks I get??"

You opened your mouth to provide a witty retort of some kind, but the sudden feeling of Loki's fingertips digging into your sides for a moment forced a rapid stream of giggles out instead. "Haha-hehehey!! Loki!!"

"You thought I would forget your little slip of the tongue last night, did you? Unwise of you to tease the God of Mischief when you're in such a precarious position, darling." You could see his smirk out of the corner of your eye as he wriggled his fingers into your sides once again, this time unrelenting as he pulled ticklish laughter from your lips. Your instinct was to turn onto your side and curl up in a ball, but you could barely move as it was inside the sleeping bag that held two people but was only large enough for one. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had you cornered, trapped with nowhere to go, nowhere to move.

"L-Lohoki this isn't faHAair!!" Your hands found his and began shoving desperately to push them away from your sides, but he wasn't budging. If anything, it only encouraged him as he dug his thumbs into the sides of your belly where they rested and toggled little circles into the pliant skin. "Yohou AHASS!"

"Insulting me now? Tsk, tsk."

He suddenly allowed his hands to go still against your sides as your communications device began to vibrate by your head. You knew before answering it would be Fury looking for a report. Turning your head enough to look at Loki, you gave him a sharp warning look, shaking your head as his impish smirk grew.

"Don't you dare."

"Answer it."

With a flustered groan, you hesitantly pulled your arm out of the sleeping bag and reached for the comms device, turning it on speaker.

"Director Fury."

"Have you succeeded in obtaining the artifact?"

Straight down to business, that one.

"Yes, we've secured it. No sign of the enemy." Loki's fingers twitched against your sides, and you barely suppressed a gasp as you shot him a wide-eyed look.

"Excellent."

"When will the quinjet be returning?" you asked.

"The blizzard is still ongoing. We won't be able to fly out until it clears. Hang tight."

You weren't sure if you were excited or anxious that you would be stuck here at least a while longer, alone with Loki. Likely a mix of both. Although, flustered was probably the best word for what you were feeling as his fingertips pressed threateningly into your sensitive sides.

"We'll be in touch when the jet is on route."

"Wait!"

You had said it without even thinking, trying to stall him on the phone to prolong the inevitable tickle attack that was to follow.

"What is it?"

"Uh... h-how's the weather over at headquarters?" You mentally facepalmed yourself for such a ridiculous stall tactic.

There was a beat of silence. "Warm."

"Oh. Well, lucky you, then! Doing anything fun later?"

"Is there a point to this conversation, agent?"

"Apologies," Loki suddenly interjected, lifting his head to lean over you to speak into the comms device. "The agent nearly caught her death yesterday from hypothermia. She's still rather delirious."

"Am no-HA-nohot!" A well-placed prodding of his fingers into your lowest ribs forced a few giggles to slip out. You glared at him.

"Alright. Well, take care of the agent until we're able to send the jet out. Can we count on you for that much, Loki?"

"Oh, don't worry." His smirk was practically wicked now as he gazed predatorily at you. "I'll take care of her."

"Thank you."

Click.

"No, no, noho, Lohoki, I know what you're think-IHING NOHO!!" Disregarding your protests, his fingers were all over you in an instant, wriggling into your sides and ribs as he sought out the spots that made you squirm and laugh harder. "WHAT DID I DOHO??"

"You dared to insinuate that I snore." He punctuated his response with a jab to your belly with all ten fingers, eliciting a shriek. "Not to mention you scared me half to death yesterday."

"I-hi dihid whahat??"

He paused in his torment a moment, allowing you to catch your breath. “You were on the brink of death last night.”

You struggled to turn over so you could look at him, with the added benefit of protecting your belly from his antsy fingers. He allowed it, keeping his arms wound tightly around you even after you successfully rolled to face him. You realized immediately it was a mistake. His face was mere inches from yours, his torso pressed against the front of yours as his hold tightened to keep you from escaping. A scalding heat rose from your neck through your cheeks to your ears. Gods he was close.

But did you really mind?

“Did it really scare you that much?” you asked quietly. His expression was unreadable as he pondered his response for a moment, then nodded. “Why?”

“I… I don’t know.” His eyes caught yours, softening as he gazed at you. You were beginning to wonder if this sudden burst of feelings you’d developed for him was reciprocated. How ridiculous would that be? A god caring for a mortal? He’d made it clear he thought of you as weak when you started this whole mission. But the look in his eyes right at this moment was not the look of someone who thought negatively of you.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” you probed, trying to get a straight answer. Loki took it as a tease, his expression morphing to a mischievous grin as his fingers dug into the backs of your ribs. You screeched, not believing how incredibly ticklish you were in that spot as you shoved your hands against his chest desperately.

“Perhaps this would have been a more effective method of raising your temperature,” he teased, clearly recognizing how severe your squirming had become and honing in on his new favorite spot. You couldn't have retorted even if you had the wherewithal to come up with something clever to say. The unbridled laughter he was pulling from you prevented you from speaking. Finding little success in pushing him away, you buried your face in his shoulder and let the sensation overtake you as your laughter became breathless.

His fingers slowed and then stopped, grip tightening to hold you close against his chest. Neither of you knew what to say, so you didn't bother trying. You simply breathed him in as you lay limp in his arms recovering from his vicious attack.

When you finally did tilt your head back to look at his face, you suddenly felt incredibly shy under the weight of his gaze. He studied your features in silence, an unreadable expression on his face.

You wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Right here, right now.

And the thought made you panic.

"I... I should get up and get something to eat," you mumbled, averting your gaze and moving to untangle yourself from his arms. He let you, reaching over to unzipper the sleeping bag to allow you to get up. You recalled, as you stood up, that you were still only wearing your shorts and T-shirt. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you added, "And I should go put on something warmer."

"Yes... that would be wise." He was staring, making your face feel hot. You scurried to your bag and grabbed a change of clothes, disappearing into the solitude of the bathroom and wondering what the hell had happened between yesterday and today to make you fall so hard.

Once you’d come out of the bathroom in your jeans and sweater, you headed directly to the small kitchen without a glance in Loki’s direction. If you didn’t look at him, maybe you would just forget about that fleeting thought you had of kissing him. Because, really, that could only end poorly for both of you.

Right?

There was no milk or eggs, really no breakfast food whatsoever. You began sifting through the cabinets for anything remotely breakfast-y, finding a stale box of cereal that you pulled down from the cupboard. As you reached up to poke through the cabinets for a bowl, two fingers began scratching directly at the center of your underarms, causing you to slam your arms down to your sides with a squeak. A rumbling laugh sounded behind you. Not that you needed it to know who it was.

“Loki! Are you going to be doing this all day?” you demanded. Deep down, you didn’t mind all that much, having his attention. But you’d never allow him to think that was the case.

“Perhaps. I need to keep myself entertained somehow in this wretchedly boring cabin.” He swiftly reached over and pinched your side outside of your field of vision, and you buckled away from his touch with a half-hearted glare. “I came over here to stop you from eating that garbage.”

“Oh? And what exactly do you propose we eat?”

Loki didn’t answer verbally - he merely held out his hand, palm facing upward, and conjured a carton of eggs out of nowhere. You cocked your head in surprise.

“How did you do that?”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to prepare for a mission.” He shot you a wink. “I wasn’t about to chance the possibility of having to live off of that.” He gestured to the box of cereal on the counter.

“Oh. Well, great!”

Somehow, the fact that he had actually done some prep work before this mission made him even more attractive to you. But you shoved that thought right to the back corner of your mind.

“Wait…” you narrowed your eyes in realization. “Why didn’t you tell me this until today? We’ve been eating this crap food for the last two days!”

“Admittedly, it was a petty desire to make you suffer.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He chuckled. “I apologize. You obviously have proven you didn’t deserve that.”

“Well… thanks. I guess.”

“Allow me to make it up to you. Sit - I’ll cook breakfast.”

“Uh… sure! I’m not going to argue that.”

Who was this and what had he done with the real Loki? This… imposter was far from the sullen, grumpy god you started this mission with. It certainly wasn’t helping you to push down your feelings for him. If anything, it was making them harder to control.

Loki cooked breakfast as promised, then sat down with you at the table to eat together. It was amazing, really, how having to share a sleeping bag somehow managed to break the ice between the two of you. It was much less of a challenge to pull conversation from the god this morning. He chatted with you about life in Asgard, and you told him more about your time before becoming a field agent of SHIELD. All in all, it was a pleasant morning, despite the circumstances.

But peace never lasts long when you're an agent of SHIELD.

A sudden distant whirring noise sounded outside the cabin. At first, you thought maybe you were hearing things, but as it grew louder, even Loki appeared mildly concerned. He stood from the table, striding swiftly over to the window to peer through the sheets of snow outside.

"They found us."

"What?" You stood, hurrying to join him at the window. "Who found us?"

"The enemy - those Zealot idolizers Fury warned us about. They're fast approaching." He turned from the window to face you, a stern look on his face. "The tablet is hidden and safe for the time being. Stay inside - allow me to dispose of them."

"What? No, I'm coming with you!"

He shook his head firmly. "No. You're still recovering. I won't have you putting yourself in harm's way once again."

"But-"

His hand shot out and grabbed hold of your wrist, grasping it tightly but not enough to hurt you. You fell silent, gazing down at his fingers wrapped around your arm for a moment before lifting your gaze to meet his. There was an unease in his eyes you'd not seen before.

"Stay. Allow me to take care of this." He lifted his other hand, conjuring a dagger with a glow of green light. "Take this." He turned your wrist to tilt your palm upwards, pressing the hilt into your hand and guiding your fingers closed around it. "I understand you are skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but please don't hesitate to use it if you require something a bit more..."

"Lethal?" you finished. He nodded. You sighed. "Fine. I'll stay here. But I'll be watching from the window - if there's any sign of them getting the best of you, make no mistake, I will be coming after them."

Loki chuckled, grinning weakly. "You doubt my ability to lay waste to these mortals?"

"Just... don't be reckless."

He nodded, holding your gaze for another moment without a word. A final nod, and he spun around and burst through the door to face the enemy head-on.

The source of the whirring sound finally came into view, only barely visible to you through the ongoing blizzard. A man and a woman sat aboard a snowmobile of their own, skidding to a halt in front of the cabin and leaping off the vehicle to their feet. You couldn't hear what was being said, but Loki was speaking to them, likely telling them to leave (though surely in more violent terms.) Only moments later, the metal of Loki's daggers flashed as he flicked his wrists and whipped them into view, clasped tightly in his hands. And then the fight commenced.

These enemies may not have had the dimensional manipulation capabilities that the Zealots had, but they certainly fought formidably. Loki's limbs and blades were a blur as he slashed and swung at the pair of them, but they, too, had blades of their own. The clanging of metal against metal echoed over the howling wind of the blizzard as Loki fought them both expertly. He kicked out and slammed his boot into the woman's stomach, focusing his energy on the man who had now rounded behind him to try to slash at him while he was vulnerable. The woman leapt to her feet, stalking powerfully toward Loki to dive back into the fray.

Suddenly, her eyes flashed toward the cabin. And they caught yours.

You ducked down, but you knew it was too late. She'd seen you. She knew you were hiding, and she would surely be coming after you now. What she didn't know was that you could fight. And she certainly didn't know you had a blade. You concealed the blade in your sleeve, keeping it hidden from view as the door burst open and the woman stepped inside.

She was taller than you, with a muscular build and a fierce scowl on her face. You didn't wait for her to come after you - the moment she entered the cabin, you charged full force and slammed a fist into her stomach. The blow barely phased her, and she bit back with a foot to your hip, sending you reeling. Stumbling, you regained your balance and rushed at her once again. Fists flying, legs swinging, you locked her in a fierce battle of manual combat.

Either she was toying with you, or she didn't want to risk causing you mortal injury just yet, because not once did she aim her blades at you. Not that it mattered - she was obviously miles more skilled than you in combat, made evident by her persistent ability to beat you down without once using her fists. A back blow with her forearm, a shove with the sole of her boot - that was all she needed to send you staggering and toppling to the floor. But you would give yourself one thing - you maintained that fierce grit and determination you prided yourself on as you picked yourself up time and time again to launch yourself at the villain.

Eventually, she became fed up with you.

"Enough of this," she barked, suddenly swinging her leg aggressively to strike your side with her heel, the force of it knocking you to the ground. She was on you in seconds, shoving her weight into pinning you flat on the floor and pressing a blade to your neck. Your eyes widened only for a moment, then narrowed determinedly despite your clear disadvantage. You were not going to die a coward.

"Do it," you hissed.

"Get up." Removing the blade from your throat, she grabbed you above the elbow and wrenched you to your feet, yanking your arm behind your back and replacing the dagger at your neck.

"What are you playing at??" you demanded.

It didn't take long to figure it out.

The door slammed all the way open once again, a dark-haired, regal figure bursting in with a cloud of snow surrounding him. Loki's eyes landed on you, traveling down to the blade at your throat. He lowered his arms, suddenly trying to appear less threatening despite the fire in his eyes.

"Give up. I've already taken care of your partner. You've lost," he growled. The woman laughed maniacally, the sound making you cringe.

"Please. He wasn't my partner. He was my subordinate." Her hand tightened on your arm, the sharp edge of the dagger pressing harder into your neck. "Give me the tablet, or I'll kill her."

A panicked look flashed across his face. He took a cautious step forward, not brandishing his weapons but clearly trying to appear powerful with his strong stride.

"I suggest you reconsider, before you make a dire mistake."

"Take one more step and this blade slices her throat."

You gasped as the dagger cut into your skin, standing up straighter to try to reduce the pressure of the blade against your throat. Loki stopped dead in his tracks, that same glint of fear in his eyes. The tension of her arm around your neck loosened slightly at the realization that he was relenting.

"Where is it?" she demanded.

"Loki, don't give it to her!" you cried, sucking in a breath as she tensed once again in retaliation. Loki's brow furrowed in both anger and frustration. Hanging his head in defeat, he lifted his hand, dagger vanishing and the tablet appearing in its place.

"Hand it over. Now."

"Loki!!" You twisted a bit in her grasp, stopping immediately as the dagger further sliced your skin. "Don't. It's not... I'm not worth it."

His head shot up to look at you, then. A blazing fury filled his eyes, but it was directed at you.

"Never say that to me again."

He held out his hand, slowly pacing toward your captor with the tablet in offering for your release. Her grip on you loosened gradually the closer he came with her prize. You had only seconds before she would have it in her possession, and while you clearly couldn't get away with offering your life to prevent it, you weren't going to let him just hand it over without a fight.

It would be a short window of opportunity, you knew, but you had to try.

You allowed the dagger you had concealed in your sleeve to slip down into your hand, fingers tightening around the hilt as Loki approached with the tablet. Your captor released your arm to reach for the prize, her other arm loosening around your neck as she leaned forward to retrieve it. In a flash, you flipped the dagger so the blade pointed behind you, slamming your fist into her stomach and driving the blade into her abdomen.

She doubled over, and that was all the time you needed to duck out of her grasp. Loki was on her instantaneously, the tablet vanishing back into the void in a green flash of light as he reached down and grabbed a fistful of her collar in his hand, lifting her easily from the ground. His blue-green eyes practically glowed red as he whipped around and marched her outside.

"You deserve a much slower death than I have patience to offer you," he growled. With that, he placed her feet on the ground and slammed her with a burst of seidr, sending her careening meters away from the cabin. Her back struck a rock wall before she slumped to the ground, a mountain of snow tumbling down from the ledge above from the impact. Then, it was silent.

Once certain she wasn't getting up, Loki whirled around and re-entered the cabin, shutting the door behind him before sweeping across the room to you. His hands grasped your waist tightly, as though worried you might float away if he didn't hold you down on the ground.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded, grasping hold of his arms above his elbows and clinging to him. Those eyes. Gods, the way he was looking at you made you weak in the knees. That same demanding voice in the back of your mind wanted you to kiss him so badly.

And this time, you listened to it.

Surging forward, you smashed your lips against his, kissing him frantically. He melted into your kiss the moment your lips captured his, hands sliding around the small of your back and tugging you closer to lean against him. You let your hands slide up his arms to slip around his neck, lacing your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. A seductive growl of appreciation resounded in his throat as his hands slid down your hips to the backs of your legs. He hoisted you effortlessly off the ground and guided you to wrap your legs around his waist. Your grip around his neck tightened to steady yourself on instinct, pressing yourself flush against his chest.

He was intoxicating in the most wonderful way. His mouth moved against yours perfectly, his teeth nipping occasionally at the plump skin of your bottom lip with just enough force to make you gasp, but not enough to hurt. He stumbled over to the futon with you still wrapped around him, falling backward onto the seat and eliciting a squeal of surprise from your lips. It made him laugh low in his chest, his hands sliding back to rest on your hips as you shifted to kneel over his lap.

Kissing Loki was desperate and frantic and passionate. He kissed you as though he feared losing you if he didn't press his lips hard enough against yours. You clung to him tightly, drinking him in as though you'd been awaiting a taste of this you're entire life. This delirious euphoria he'd instilled in you was more than enough to chase away the effects of the turmoil you'd experienced through this entire trying mission. He wanted you. And that was an incredible feeling.

Loki's hand slid firmly up your back to clasp around your neck, tugging you closer to deepen the kiss. He was leaving you breathless, but you didn't want to separate from him long enough to take a breath. Eventually, though, the need for oxygen forced you to part your lips from his to stop your head from spinning.

Loki, too, was gasping a bit for air, causing a grin to spread across your face as you pressed your forehead to his.

"You... you're a damn good kisser," you breathed, earning a chuckle from the god.

"What did you expect, darling? I'm a literal god."

"Yeah... God of Mischief," you retorted with a laugh.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He sat up a bit, his hand at your neck returning to your waist.

"Isn't mischief kind of the opposite of passion and romance?" You were teasing him now, knowing it was getting to him. Unfortunately, it backfired, as a smirk spread across his face and caused your stomach to flip.

"I suppose I should just stick to mischief then, hmm?"

Before you could react, he was pinching at your sides with his thumbs and index fingers, laughing evilly as you shrieked and burst into giggles. Your instinct wasn't to try to escape, but to lean into him as he teased out the spots that made you jolt and squeak.

"LOKI! YOU'RE RU-AHAH-RUINING A MOHOMENT!!"

"Am I? I was under the impression that you started this." He pinched his way up your sides, suddenly adding his other fingers to grab at your ribs and dig into the crevices with his fingertips. You leaned sideways, and he swiftly flipped you onto your back against the sofa cushions beside him as he continued his ticklish onslaught.

"No, noho, NO!!" You hooked your fingers around his hands at your ribs and tugged, squirming in an effort to prevent him from shifting to kneel over your hips. He easily managed to evade your attempts, planting his weight down on your legs to pin you down as he scribbled into your belly. With a buck of your hips, you dissolved into ticklish laughter as his fingertips preyed on the sensitive skin of your abdomen, skittering and clawing in search of a more dramatic reaction. And he succeeded, fingers grazing over the spot just above your waistline where you suddenly began to fight much harder for your escape. That classic Loki smirk crossed his face as he devilishly slipped his fingers under the hem of your shirt to flutter against your bare skin in that hypersensitive spot.

"Is this mischievous enough to live up to my title?" he demanded teasingly, clearly pleased with himself for drawing such desperate laughter from you.

"NOHO!"

"No?" He paused a moment to think, allowing you to breathe. You immediately began shaking your head pleading with him that you didn't mean it as a response to his clearly rhetorical question as he ignored you and shifted his weight further back on your legs. With a knowing grin, he slid his fingers between the seat cushion and your leg, poised to strike at the underside of your thigh where you'd given yourself away in the first place.

"W-WAHAIT!! Loki! Wahait a minute!" you pleaded through anticipatory giggles. He gazed at you expectantly, his fingers resting motionless against his new target.

"Something to say?" he asked.

"I..."

"Are you asking me to stop?" His smirk returned as he watched your internal conflict play out on your face. Is that what you wanted? He was far too good at wheedling out your weak spots, but did you mind? This playfulness, this flirty little game he'd started with you, was perhaps exactly what you needed right at this moment.

"I... you..."

"Time's up."

His fingers sprang back into action, scratching at the ticklish skin along the back of your thigh. You sat up on instinct, fumbling for his hands as laughter poured from your lips, but he wasn't having any of it. Now that he knew you didn't mind this little game, he was going to play until you inevitably declared him the winner. So his fingers found your ribs for a brief moment, long enough to make you fall back against the sofa before continuing his attack on your leg.

"LOHOKI JUST KIHISS ME! PLEHEASE!!" you begged frantically. His fingers stilled, a sultry look in his eyes as he returned his attention to your face. With a seductively handsome grin, he slowly crawled to hover over you, hands pressed against the sofa at either side of your head.

"How could I possibly decline such a request?"

Loki ducked down and captured your lips with his, and you immediately wrapped your arm around his neck to pull him in closer. His skin felt cool now against your blushing lips. Your mind went hazy as you succumbed to his kiss, melting as his lips trailed from yours along your jawline, giggling when he kissed the soft skin of your neck. He leaned back a bit to grin at you, a similarly hazy look in his eyes to what you were feeling, before leaning back down and pressing feather-light kisses to your neck.

"Yohohou tehease, Loki!" you scolded half-heartedly, shrugging your shoulder in a fruitless attempt to block his tickly kisses. He merely trailed down to your collarbone, a surprisingly sensitive spot that made your giggles pitch up in octave, much to his pleasant surprise. A few more well-placed pecks along this newfound spot, and you finally decided to retaliate, your fingers fluttering lightly at his neck where they rested.

To your surprise, he flinched hard, a small laugh escaping his lips at the unexpected sensation. He lifted his head to meet your gaze, a dangerous look flashing in his eyes at the sight of your triumphant expression.

"Oh, darling - you're asking for it now."

A sudden scratching under your outstretched arm made you screech and contract instinctively, resultantly yanking him down closer to you. He took advantage of the sudden shifting off-balance, allowing his weight to simply drop onto you and pin you down so his previously supporting hand could find purchase on your ribs, his other hand continuing its assault under your arm. You could barely squirm with the weight of a god against the length of your body, which made every dig of his fingertips into your skin that much more unbearably ticklish as you laughed wildly. As his fingers at your ribs hooked around to that hypersensitive spot he'd discovered earlier toward your back, he pressed another ticklish kiss to your neck, driving you into silent, breathy laughter. He tormented you just a moment longer before halting his attack, lifting his weight off you slightly to gaze down at your disheveled form and grinning face.

"Alright, love?" he asked, his tone filled with adoration for you. You merely nodded, unable to find your voice just yet as you gasped for breath. You were more than alright. This was euphoric bliss, having him this close to you, tickling you silly and kissing you breathless. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before shifting his weight off of you, wedging himself between the back of the sofa and your body so he could pull you into his chest.

"M'tired now," you grumbled half-heartedly. A rumbling laugh vibrated in his chest against your back.

"Then rest, darling. I'll be right here."

And so you did, allowing your eyes to drift closed and your breath to slow and deepen. The last few days had been overwhelming, and you hadn't realized how the exhaustion had caught up to you until this very moment. It wasn't long at all before you slipped into a peaceful sleep, wrapped safely in Loki's arms.

* * *

Loki kept his promise - remaining at your side while you took quite possibly the longest nap you'd ever taken. Hours later, when you finally did awaken, you heart skipped at the realization that his arm was still wrapped tightly around you. This time, it wasn't awkward in the least. This time, you knew he wanted you, and you wanted him.

What a whirlwind of a relationship.

You stirred, turning onto your back to look at the god keeping you warm in his embrace. He smiled, and you pressed a slow, sleepy, drunk-like kiss to his lips.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"Mmhmm." You greedily went in for another kiss, and he allowed it, pulling you to lay on top of him as he rolled onto his back. His sleep-warmed hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing gentle patterns along the bare skin of your back with just enough pressure to keep from tickling you, but light enough to leave goosebumps in their wake. You sighed contentedly into his lips, and he grinned against your mouth, continuing on his mission to make you feel good and relishing in the little shivers he elicited from you as his fingers drifted lazily up and down your spine.

Your comms device began buzzing where it sat on the floor. With an annoyed groan, you shifted to lift yourself from the warmth of Loki's embrace, but he tightened his grasp, capturing your lips once again.

"Mm'Loki! I have to - mmpf - I have to answer it!"

"Mm-mm. You're not going anywhere." He stole another kiss, and you allowed it briefly, then wriggled your fingers into his sides. With a bark of a laugh and a jolt, his hold on you loosened long enough for you to slip out of his grasp and move to the comms device, shooting him a cheeky grin as you picked it up off the floor. He sat up, sending you a playful glare. "You'll pay for that later."

"Director Fury," you stated, ignoring Loki's threat but unable to prevent the heat from creeping into your cheeks.

"Agent. I hope you're a bit less delirious now."

You rolled your eyes, glaring at Loki. "Yes, much better, thank you."

"Good. The storm has lifted, and we'll be coming to get you within the hour. We heard about your little run-in with the Zealot idolizers."

"Don't worry. The tablet is safe - we took care of them."

"Excellent work. Be prepared to board the jet when it arrives. We're on a tight schedule." With that, he hung up, no hint of a goodbye. Typical Fury.

You stood, moving to your bag to start packing up your belongings. As you folded up your clothes to pack them away, two hands latched onto your ribs from behind, digging into the spaces.

"HEHEY! Loki! Sahave it for LAHATER! I have to pack!"

"Just throw everything in there, it's not that difficult," he urged, halting in his attack. You looked at him incredulously.

"Just throw everything in there? Do you even know me at all, Loki?? I can't just throw things into my bag haphazardly, it has to be organized!"

"Yes, I know, I know..." he sighed. "I know you're a perfectionist when it comes to preparedness."

"Thank you." You turned back to your packing, yelping when suddenly your belongings folded themselves on their own accord and stacked neatly into your bag, the zipper closing over them. You whipped around to find Loki grinning impishly, his hand still with a slight residual glow from performing his seidr.

"Now then - now that that's finished..." He tugged you to your feet, snaking his arms around you and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. You squeaked in surprise, but melted into his lips shortly thereafter. He broke apart from your lips to flash you that handsome grin of his. "Since you're so worried I don't know you well enough, why don't we work on that, hmm?"

Heat blossomed in your cheeks under his intense gaze. "You'll have to wait a little while to know me that well," you insisted, a teasing grin spreading across your face.

"Oh, naturally," he agreed. "But we have an hour to kill. And I don't intend to waste a moment of it."

You spent the next hour truly getting to know one another. Talking and trading stories, interlaced with many more passionate kisses. Perhaps more kisses than stories, really. And, maybe, you weren't quite as prepared to board the jet as you normally would have liked to be when it arrived.

You type out your last email of the day as the coaches say goodbye and head home. You shut your laptop and gather your things and head out to meet your girlfriend in the parking lot, like you do every day. You get through the double doors and find Rebecca standing outside, waiting for you. You can tell by her body language she isn't happy, you knew she had a big meeting today and you have a feeling it didn't go so well.

"Hi babe!" you say cheerfully as you walk up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist.

You feel her tense body relax at your touch, she turns in your arms to face you and wraps her arms around your neck.

"Hi love"

She towers over you, especially when she's in heels. She arcs her neck down as you come up on your tip toes and exchange a kiss.

"How did your meeting go?" you say with hope

"Not well" she sighs

"Oh honey I'm so sorry," you say as you cup her face with one of your hands "do you want to talk about it?" you ask as you look into her eyes.

She leans her face into your hand as she places her hand over yours and holds onto it.

"No, not really"

"Okay, well let's go home, I'll cook dinner and we'll have a great night and take your mind off of it!"

"Okay" she replies. You can feel how down she is, even when she smiles, it's not as bright and happy as usual; you know it's gonna take more than dinner and some wine to cheer her up. You pull her in for another kiss and lead her to the car and open the door for her.

"Madame" you say as you bow, trying to get her to laugh.

She gives a small chuckle and ducks into the car. You close her door and get in on the other side. Rebecca is on her phone going through her work emails.

"What's that?" you ask

"Oh nothing, just emails"

"Let me see that for a second" you say as you grab the phone out of her hand.

"Hey wait!" she says trying to grab the phone back

"No! No more work" you put the phone in your bag and push your bag aside "you need one night without work. You had a shit day today, give yourself a break"

She goes to argue back before you cut her off

"And don't try to fight me on this" you grab her hand and look into her eyes "you know I'm right"

She gives you an irritated look, for a second you think of backing down but you decide to stay strong. Once she realizes you won't give in, she sighs in defeat "Fine"

You cuddle up next to her and rest your head on her shoulder, she rests her head against yours and you both sit quietly snuggled up together for the rest of the ride home. The car pulls up to the house and Rebecca seems reluctant to move.

"Hey," you say to her as your hold her face in your hands and look into her eyes "once we get out of this car, we leave all of that shit in here, okay? Nothing that happened today gets into the house, we're gonna leave all of the sadness, stress and frustration right here."

She nods her head as her eyes sparkle, not entirely convinced, but willing to try. You can see in her eyes that she's grateful for what you're doing.

"No more mopey Rebecca, once we get out of the car I want fun Rebecca" you say to her

She frowns and gives you a look.

"Come on," you say "you ready?" as you grab her hand

"Alright" she says

You pull her out of the car and you walk into the house.

"Okay! Fun time!" You say excitedly as you both put your things down. Rebecca's demeanor doesn't change from the car. You can tell she wants to, but the weight from the stress still sits heavily on her shoulders.

"Come on! Let's play!" you say as you jump around her

She chuckles "Honey-"

"Nope you promised! Come on fun Rebecca!" you say as you poke at her. An idea pops into your head, it's potentially dangerous, but you think it'll work.

She kicks off her shoes and goes to walk into the kitchen. You skip behind her and start practicing karate moves on her, gently chopping and poking at her sides.

"Ka pow! Ka cha!" you use your terrible sound effects to add some playful flavor to your pokes and chops.

"Hey! Knock it off!" she says with a small giggle, but definitely sounds a little irritated.

"Nope" you say as you keep playing around, poking her sides where you know she's ticklish.

"That tickles!" She says with a laugh, the irritation in her voice dissipates, you're finally breaking through her bad mood.

"There's nothing you can do!" you say over and over as you poke and tickle her as she laughs and tries to fight you off "there's nothing you can do!"

"Oh really?" she says with a raised eyebrow, Rebecca is significantly stronger than you, hence the potential for danger when you play around like this, you know you're done for.

"Shit!!" you squeal as you run away from her

"Get back here!" she yells as she runs after you

You run into the bedroom and close the door right before she can stop you, she tries to push it open but by some miracle you're able to lock it before she's able to open it. Rebecca hears the lock click and jiggles the handle

"Hey! Open the door!" she says as she laughs

"No!!"

You hear her footsteps walk away as you put your ear to the door. She walks back and you hear the handle jiggle and hear a click, she unlocks the door

"Oh shit!!" you yell as you run away from the door onto the bed as she bursts it open

"I have the key" she says with the spare key in her hand "now you're gonna get it"

She runs after you and you hop off of the bed onto the other side, the bed in between the two of you, you're in a standoff.

"There's no where for you to go now" she says, you can tell already her mood has changed, playful Rebecca finally came through.

She goes to climb onto the bed after you as you run around the side, you almost get past her but she hops off and grabs you by your waist and throws you onto the bed as you squeal with laughter.

"NO! NO!!" you say as you try to climb away from her.

"Oh no you're gonna get it" she says with laughter and determination.

She straddles you on the bed as you try to grab her wrists to stop her from tickling you. She manages to get her hand around one of your wrists and pins it above your head as you struggle to keep your other hand out of her grasp.

"NO!!" you shout playfully

"Oh no you're not getting away from me" she giggles

As usual, she's able to grab your other wrist and pins it above your head, she uses one had to hold down both wrists as she tickles the hell out of you.

"Ah!!! NOOOO!!" you struggle to break free but she's a lot stronger than you, you know you have no chance but you try to wiggle away anyway. Rebecca is laughing as she's tickling you, you pause for a moment to soak in how amazing she is, how gorgeous her smile is, how much you love hearing her laugh. She digs her fingers into your side and you squeal again.

"STOPPP!! I'm gonna pee!!!!" you yell through laughs

Rebecca keeps tickling you as you squirm and try to get away, even though there's no chance. Between your hands pinned above your head, and her strong legs on either side of your hips keeping you from wiggling away, you're screwed.

"Okay! Okay! Okay!!" you yell "Uncle!!!"

She pauses only for a second and gives you a confused look, she quickly returns to tickling you.

"What is that not a fucking thing here?!" you yell, squirming at each poke and tickle she gives you "I give up!!!! You win!!!!"

She stops tickling you but keeps your hands pinned above your head as you pant, trying to catch your breath.

"It's not fair," you whine "you're too strong!"

Rebecca laughs and leans her face close to yours.

"I don't know why you ever think you can win these" she says with a giggle as she starts to kiss your neck.

"Even though I didn't win win, I still won" you say playfully

Rebecca picks her head up and looks at you confused.

"I got fun Rebecca to come out!" you say as you stick your tongue out.

Rebecca laughs and pretends to bite at your tongue.

"Therefore, I win!" you say matter-of-factly.

She rolls her eyes at you and goes back to kissing your neck.

"I mean, there's no way I didn't win!" you continue

She moves her face in front of yours.

"You're such a little shit, you know that?" she says with a smile

"Yep" you say proudly as she shakes her head at you.

You giggle and slide your wrists out from under her grasp, you hold her face in your hands and pull her in for a kiss. You can feel her melt into your lips as any of remaining stress she was harboring earlier vanishes. You roll her over so you're laying next to each other on the bed. You exchange soft kisses, her full lips feel like pillows against yours. With her hands on your hips she pulls you closer, your thumb caresses her cheek as you feel her chest rise and fall against yours with each breath.

You pull away and look into her beautiful eyes, you kiss her nose and put your forehead against hers as you continue to stroke her cheek. She turns her head and places a kiss in the center of your palm and looks at you with bright, full eyes. She moves a piece of hair away from your face and rests her hand on your cheek. She closes her eyes and puts her forehead back against yours.

"Thank you" she says quietly

"Of course" you softly reply "I love you"

"I love you too" she says back.