Queer and tired

Several Avengers were returning home from a mission he was not asked to lend a hand in. If Thor had been called away to help perhaps Loki would have questioned it, but he’d realised long ago that not everyone was needed for every mission. It took time to unravel the knot in his stomach whenever he was excluded from something which seemed so obviously suited to his skill set, but the quickest way to be benched was to argue with Stark or Rogers.

Loki would not call himself compliant, nor submissive by any means, but he was, if nothing else, a master in the art of self-preservation. Being stuck on Midgard was dull enough without the tyranny of boredom. So, he simply… played along. With their missions, with their trainings, with their fanciful notions of actually being a powerful force in the grande scheme of the universes. If sometimes that meant staying home, he would.

The returning heroes would often gather for a meal or debrief post-landing, but tonight there was a different atmosphere apparent. Stark had stayed back, and had been locked in the lab for several days. He also seemed particularly on edge this evening. His temperament uneasy, as if he were about to encounter an unsure situation. Perhaps someone was injured, or someone was missing. No. There’d be distress in his demeanour. This was… hesitance.

Stark’s unusual air was enough to keep Loki close to the hangar when the quinjet was due to arrive back. It touched down outside, then taxied in, its pilot indiscernible, perhaps Barton. The underbelly ramp descended and several people walked down it, less chatty than Loki knew them to be.

He saw the familiar casual walk of Wanda and the intentional placement of Vision’s feet. Black tactical boots tucked into navy-blue pants belonged to the stoic-footed Captain, Romanoff next to him with her sneak-like walk. An unfamiliar gait caught Loki’s eye. Their feet, her feet, he quickly discerned, falling next to Romanoff’s in an eerily similar manner.

They brought someone back with them.

The feet kept walking down the ramp in step with Romanoff until an entire body was revealed and Loki took his first glimpse of you.

The lack of shackles around your limbs or bag over your head told him you were not a prisoner and apparently not a threat. Loki folded his arms and leaned against the large double-doorframe everyone would have to pass through to get back to the weapons room to relinquish their equipment. Those who walked ahead gave him polite nods and tight smiles, all passing him by without questioning why he was there to greet them. Perhaps they understood he’d discovered something that made him curious. They were all, still, uncharacteristically quiet.

Loki casted his gaze over to where you, Rogers and Romanoff were standing in a close circle near the bottom of the ramp. All of the footsteps behind him kept fading, save for one familiar footfall. He got closer and the familiar cologne assaulted Loki’s senses. Stark walked past without acknowledging the demigod in the doorway, and the Captain’s head shot towards the approaching scientist.

“Tony,” he said, his voice ever strong and commandeering. His greeting turned Romanoff’s head, and then yours. He saw you look at Tony, then he saw you look towards him in the doorway. Your eyes locked with his for several seconds before you looked him up and down, then turned back to the conversation which now included Stark. Loki stayed leaned with his arms folded, brow lowered in thought and curiosity. He’d never seen them bring someone back like this. And to be greeted by Stark? Were you sticking around?

The possibilities ran through his mind as he took note of your familiar stance and impeccable posture. It was possible you’d always been a part of the team and you’d been deep undercover for the ten months he’d been living at the Compound. Hmm, no. He would have heard your name. Perhaps you were a SHIELD Agent, or a defector of some kind. But you didn’t feel out of place. No, something about you felt all too much like a word on the tip of his tongue. He’d certainly never seen your face. He would have remembered.

After a minute or two of hushed conversation, you nodded and said something that looked like “Understood” before the four of you turned and began walking towards the hallway. Loki held his ground as you approached, even though Stark made some sarcastic comment about vampires and lurking. Rogers chuckled once through his nose at the joke, but Loki could see he, too, looked hesitant. Distracted. Wary.

Then, the impossible happened - a mortal’s look got under his skin.

You looked straight into Loki’s eyes as you approached, scanning his stance, eyeing his hands, his feet, his waist. Loki squinted a bit. You were assessing him as a threat. You were clocking his weak points, checking for weapons and signs of aggression. When you met his face again, the look you gave him made his shoulders tense and gave him the desire to shift from one foot to the other in discomfort. But he did not give you that satisfaction. Your eyes gave him no indication of fear, they did not flash in recognition like every other mortal’s did when realising who they stood before. You didn’t blink and flinch and stammer out his name like a bitter taste you wanted to be rid of. You just… walked on by, breaking your stare to look ahead right before you passed where he stood. Setting his jaw, he turned to watch the four of you retreat, wondering how in the Nine Realms you’d just looked at him like that. Your eyes had told him exactly what you thought of him, and he’d thought it impossible.

You either had no idea who he was, or you did not care.

He couldn’t decide which was worse.

The mystery of the reason you were brought back, and the familiarity of your stance, was explained over the next day or so as conversation buzzed around the Compound.

The team had been on mission in Belgrade, tending to a situation where there was a looming assassination threat against the President. The political situation in Serbia had been delicate, to say the least, and an assassination would destabilise Eastern Europe beyond the threshold of what could be repaired in a year or two.

Romanoff had been undercover at a gala with government officials when she recognised one of the waitresses: you. The Avenger had been wearing a nanotech mask to disguise her true face, but something about the familiarity of her had triggered something in your keen Widow senses. After a lengthy fight between her, you and Wanda, the two women had managed to combine their skills of magic, manipulation and sheer brute force to break past your defences and knock some sense into you.

It was more complicated than that, of course, but Loki had never felt it appropriate to discuss the life of a Widow with Romanoff before. He’d seen her ledger. He’d practically felt the need to wash his hands of the metaphorical blood dripping from her history. When he’d first read of it, when Barton had provided it to him all those years ago, he’d been impressed. It made him think he’d taken the wrong assassin. Though the ledger did not mention the training. The pheromones. The total mind and body control.

You kept mostly to yourself for those first couple of days, and Loki couldn’t quite blame you. The first time he witnessed you venturing into the kitchen with other people in it, the conversation all but stopped. It hadn’t been about you, but it may as well have been. You gave a tight-lipped smile and mumbled an apology for intruding. Wanda assured you it was fine, you weren’t intruding, but the words coming from the still-swollen cut lips of a mouth you’d punched weren’t as convincing as they needed to be.

Romanoff was seen considerably less of for those days, and Loki assumed it meant she was taking time to talk with you, work with you, help settle you in. You didn’t seem particularly thrilled about being here, leading Loki to assume you were probably in some kind of danger. A conversation he stumbled across that same afternoon shed some light.

“We have her to thank for Petrovic not being dead, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Romanoff’s argumentative tone made Loki pause in place just as he was about to open the door to the lab. He knew they were talking about you, so he listened.

“Uh, she changed her mind about an assassination she was going to commit,” Tony fired back. “Should I house every non-murderer in the state?”

“You‘re being ridiculous, you know it’s not that simple- Tony!” She urged and Loki heard his footsteps and his sigh. “She doesn’t want to be an Avenger. She just needs some help to take down Dreykov.”

That name, Dreykov, immediately conjured images of that gushing ledger. His daughter, the explosion, who he was, what he’d done. He was supposed to be dead.

“They’ll be after her now, she needs a place to lay low. But now there’s someone, someone qualified, who wants to work to dismantle the global Widow network. One long, deadly game of catch and release.”

There was a pause. “Alright, what does she need?”

Loki started feeling like it was nearly time for him to make his entrance as Romanoff explained to Tony that you just needed a place to stay, some transport, some weapons, some equipment.

The night they’d free’d you, you told them there were half a dozen Widows disguised at the event and the assassination was going down that night. What’s more, they knew the Avengers were there.

The team managed to free two more Widows from mind control -one of whom was killed in action and the other one absconded. Another Widow was killed, the other two narrowly escaped back to the Red Room. The ones who’d escaped would have surely told of your defection by now. Dreykov would know. Drekyov would know Natasha was involved.

Loki could hear the tension draining from the room as the two Avengers discussed your needs and came to an agreement, even if Stark still sounded sceptical, so Loki entered with a loud interrupting greeting to the scientist saying he was ready to provide insight on that alien tech he’d recovered.

Tony gestured to it over on a table as he bid his colleague farewell. One look and Loki knew it was of Asgard. “It’s a portable bullet mill. Used by factions of soldiers needing to produce more ammunition during travel. It converts asteroids into rounds for their weapons.” Loki kept explaining the technology to Stark, impressed by his own ability to be speaking one thing and thinking of something completely different.

So the freshly-freed former Widow wants to take down Dreykov. You’d barely had your own life for two days and you were already throwing yourself back into that world. Loki couldn’t blame you. Old habits, and all that. It intrigued him, however, that you intended to do it alone.

The following afternoon, Loki finally had his first conversation with you. He‘d come across you in a wayward hallway, your brow furrowed as you opened and closed a few cabinets. After opening a particularly large one, your face fell, then you noticed Loki was close by.

“Where do they keep the shoes?” You asked, closing the cabinet which housed yet another switchboard of the Compound’s operating system.

“Pardon?”

“The shoes,” you repeated. “I need some shoes. I don’t know where they keep them.”

Seeing the earnestness in your eyes, Loki resisted the inherent desire to be insufferably snarky. He knew if he brushed off your seemingly silly question the first time you ever asked, you’d probably dismiss him as a useless source. And he couldn’t have that. Not with his unanswered question about the way you’d looked at him.

“Clothing on this team isn’t standard issue. It is yours to choose.”

“Oh.”

“Come,” he tilted his head and you followed without a second thought. You walked beside him as he navigated through the hallways of the residential building on the Compound, exiting into the sunshine with you still close. He wondered how long it was take you to realise it was foolish to trust him like this. Who knows where he could be taking you? How in Midgard’s name were you so unfazed about trailing along behind Loki of Asgard like a lost puppy?

“Settling in?” Loki asked as he approached the doors of another building.

“No,” you answered honestly. Loki smirked to himself, opening the door for you like the chivalrous Prince he was raised to be. You seemed unfazed by the gesture. Perhaps you didn’t find the need to stop and think about such things.

As Loki approached the desk of a somewhat receptionist, the young uniformed man’s eyes went a little wide when he saw who was about to ask him a question. “Miss Potts,” Loki stated, telling the already-nodding Agent who he needed to see. Daniel, the name tag told you both, scurried away through some security doors and you two were left alone for several moments.

“She’s with Tony Stark,” you said. The way you said it was confident, but still had the hint of seeking validation for your intel.

“Correct.”

“She runs his company.”

“Also correct- ah,” he smiled dryly, but tried to make it look polite as Pepper walked into the room sporting a similar air of general displeasure.

“What can I do for you, Loki?”

“I take it you’ve met your latest house-guest?” Loki gestured to you.

“Uh, yes,” Pepper turned to you, her smile becoming slightly more genuine. “Are you settling in well?”

“Yes,” you lied with a soft smile. Loki bit back a smirk, and couldn’t help but flag your honesty with him as another thing he’d have to ask you about. “Although I’m looking for some shoes.”

“O-oh, okay,” Pepper nodded, but looked confused.

“The woman has no money, Miss Potts,” Loki stepped in to hurry the conversation along. “She needs clothing.”

“Of course,” Pepper instantly softened in understanding, then quickly regained her all-knowing posture and gestured for you to follow her. “Come with me. We’ll find you everything you need.”

As you followed her, you shot a tight thankful smile over your shoulder to Loki before being led through the security doors and falling out of sight. Noticing the smirk tense on his lips, Loki relaxed his features and began making his way back to the Compound.

You didn’t strike him as a particularly trusting person, so the more he thought about it, the more he realised why you had such confidence in being led around; you didn’t see any of these people as a threat. Including him. Which, he still wasn’t sure if he liked or not.

A little reverence for his deity certainly wouldn’t hurt. Nor would a little awe at his power. No. Why did he feel the desire to be impressive to you?

Mortals knew nothing.

Several months later, you appeared to have finally settled in. Loki hadn’t explicitly asked you since that first day, finding the brief conversations he had with you to contain much more pressing matters, but you no longer completely avoided everyone when you were home. You were more likely to join in on a dinner than a movie night, you didn’t shy away from training at the same time as anyone else, but it was rare to get you talking about anything non-work related.

You were away a lot. Safely based at the Avengers Compound, you tapped into your (and Natasha’s) sources and travelled the world in that one big, deadly catch and release expedition. When some intel would indicate Widow involvement in some upcoming event, you’d attend to it. Using a pheromone-based counteragent Banner had managed to replicate from a small sample that’d been recovered, you’d search the world for your sisters in order to help free them of their bonds.

Though, more often than not, you’d return home with an air of defeat. You were mostly doing it alone, and you didn’t have the added benefit of being deprived of fear and choice, so that cutthroat edge had been taken away. You were still keen and deadly, Loki learned as he saw you train, and then eventually heard of you in the field.

The first mission you tagged along on was one Romanoff insisted you’d be perfect for. It required the finesse of two former Widows who could make quick work of a break, enter, steal, replicate, reset, escape. It went flawlessly. Loki hadn’t been there, but he’d heard the stories. The excited stories. The compliments from Barton, the nods of approval from Rogers as he conceded it was a lot easier with you around than it would’ve been otherwise.

As you cupped a mug of coffee in your hands the morning of your return, and smiled politely at their praise, Loki saw the way the smile reached your eyes, but he also saw the way it looked to be a replica of the one you’d given Pepper all those months ago. At some point in the conversation, after Clint asked Natasha about how the new repelling hooks he’d helped designed had worked for you two, you snapped your gaze to Loki. The Prince nearly flinched at the way you seemed to know he’d been looking at you at that point in time. The warm, polite smile on your face, for the briefest second, morphed into a knowing smirk before you sipped the steaming coffee once more.

That look you’d given him held a lot. A lot of questions, a lot of comments.

Do they always sit around and talk about how great things went for themselves after a mission?

You know this is ridiculous.

Seriously, how self-satisfied?

You understand. I know you understand.

He deciphered the meaning behind your look before your eyes left his and you stood up from where your elbows had been propped against the kitchen island. Once the conversation had petered out and most people left the kitchen, you turned to Romanoff.

“Any luck on me borrowing Wanda for that lead in Interlaken?”

“None,” she smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I wish I had more pull over allocation of people.”

“You’ve done a lot,” you nodded. “I appreciate you trying.”

Romanoff gave an affectionate squeeze of your forearm and excused herself, leaving you and Loki alone. He noticed how your face dropped into frustration, and the smallest roll of your eyes, as you leaned back down against the counter the second she stepped out of the room.

“Why do you need Wanda?” Loki folded his arms, leaning against the opposite counter as he peered to where you stayed leaned on the other side of the kitchen island.

“I’m getting my ass kicked,” you muttered. “They’re too-… part of being a Widow is not really grasping that your life is something you can lose. It’s hard to explain,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand, then let out a breath. “Anyway, I’m convinced Nat and Wanda were able to pull me out because of Wanda‘s ability to enter the mind.”

“How so?”

“The antidote, whatever you want to call it, the stuff that Bruce gave me… I think it would work better if the subject‘s mind was already susceptible.”

“Is the antidote not working?”

“I’m having a hard time getting close enough to find out,” you sighed, defeated. “I get that people don’t trust me, but half the situations the Avengers go in to fix wouldn’t even be on the table if the Widow network was dismantled. I don’t understand what’s so hard to comprehend about that,” you looked over your shoulder, measuring your voice, before turning back to Loki. “Widows are effective because they don’t avenge. They’re ahead of the action.” You sat back, lifting your mug to your lips before finishing with, “Everyone here should be on board with coming to Switzerland.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The words left Loki’s mouth before he’d really thought them through, but his chest didn’t immediately surge with panic, so he didn’t let himself regret saying it. You looked taken aback, nearly choking on your sip of coffee.

“You will?”

“Why not?”

“Why would you do that?”

“If you don’t want my help, I-”

“No, I do. I really do,” you nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Less than three days later, Loki found himself sitting across from you at a candlelit table overlooking the Aare River, which had long since ceased glittering with sunset and was now a peaceful reflection of the star-laced night sky.

You gifted a sweet fake smile at the waiter as he refilled your wine in your glass, your cherry-red lips framing a coy flash of pearly-white teeth. Loki looked at your glass as it was filled, confident the waiter was not perceptive enough to pick up the lack of a lipstick stain on the rim. Even if he were perceptive enough, Loki gave him a zero-sum chance of realising it’s because you weren’t actually wearing lipstick. You weren’t wearing your hair down in soft waves either, and you certainly weren’t wearing that long-sleeved black dress that hugged you in all the right places.

Your eyes had called him cheeky for conjuring such an alluring illusion onto you, but when Loki had cast his magic to disguise you two as an impeccably dressed couple dining at the most expensive restaurant in town, you seemed preoccupied with your delighted amazement at his magic. That’d made him happy - to see your child-like smile of joy when your heavy tactical clothing had been concealed and replaced with beautiful black gown.

“I can’t even feel my real clothes,” you’d commented as he‘d led you through the grand doors of the restaurant. Pausing by the maitre d, you turned to Loki and reached up to smooth out his collar. He knew his collar was perfect, but the way your eyes flitted towards the dining area told him you’d done it to have a chance to clock your target. “A table by the window?” You turned and smouldered the host with your gaze, and he immediately nodded in agreement.

That table by the window was close to a man with the last name Dubois. He managed a large charitable trust which was primarily funded by a number of Catholic organisations. So in order to dismantle that trust, and all it did to fund efforts to stabilise regions Dreykov did not want stabilised, Dubois needed to die. But he did not just need to die, he needed to be ruined. His name dragged through the mud. How better to do so, than to find him dead from an overdose in the expensive hotel room he’d purchased for himself and his mistress.

Of course, Dubois was a Boy Scout. An upstanding citizen. Your sources had told you he’d not given into the advances of the strikingly beautiful Widow sent to seduce him. So even though Dubois was here alone, on business, sat in the restaurant at a table by himself enjoying a fine-dining experience, in a mere few days his wife was to receive a call that’d he’d been found dead with evidence of another woman in the room. They’d never find the mistress, but that’d hardly matter. The damage would be done, as would the multi-million dollar funding when the churches needed their names nowhere near a dead, drunk adulterer.

Your time as a Widow had told you there’d be eyes on him always; the One sent to do it was probably here watching. A waitress, maybe. Or that older-looking woman by the window. The bartender, perhaps. Loki saw you scan the room, then visibly try to relax yourself as to not give away your mission posture.

“This wine is exceptional, given Midgard’s usual standard,” Loki commented.

“It’s probably just grape juice to you, right?” You half-smirked, resting a forearm against the edge of the table as you toyed with the stem of the glass. “This wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“Two or three bottles might. But the richness-”

“Oh, far too much,” you frowned and nodded in agreement, then silence hung between you again. Then, Loki caught it. He turned to see a woman a few tables over who shared your stance. Her arm was also resting on the table, her fingers also playing with the glass. She sat up a little straighter and then leaned her elbows on the table with a flirtatious smile at her date. Loki turned back to you, and watched you mimic her perfectly.

“You’ve never done this before.”

“Is it that obvious?” You sat back, looking disappointed at being caught out.

“Were there only certain Widows trained in the art of dinner table seduction?” Loki tried his hand at a playful jab.

You smiled, looking down at the table cloth before examining it between your fingers. “We all learned everything. It wasn’t an option to not be good at an aspect of the job.”

“Yet you’ve never done this before.”

“Maybe the other Widows were just more beautiful.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Caught you. Loki smirked at the subtle blush that bloomed on your cheeks before you reigned it in and smirked back at him, picking up your wine glass.

“Smooth.”

“There’s a reason.” Loki sat back and folded his fingers on his lap, tilting his head down to watch your expression. “Why you never done this before.”

Your jaw moved with the dance of you taking in the flavour of the impossibly expensive wine as you bided your time to think of an answer. Loki knew you knew the true answer, so he was watching to see if you’d share it with him. Then, a genuine distraction caught your eye.

“Shit,” you whispered. “Tatiana. I need to look like not me, Loki.”

“What, right now?”

“Just do it!” You whispered loudly.

“And how were those starters?” You both snapped your heads up to see the impeccably-mannered waiter smiling down expectantly. It was too late. Loki couldn’t change your appearance now. He flicked his eyes to the window in an attempt to check where you were looking, spotting the vague figure of a beautiful woman in a royal blue dress. The movement of your hand on the table brought his gaze back to where you wrapping your fingers around a butter knife and shifting the blade to be concealed against the underside of your wrist.

“Excellent,” you answered, tensely. “Can we have a few more minutes please?” You asked without looking up.

“Of course,” he nodded, almost bowed, then took his exit. Unfortunately, he had been shielding you from Tatiana’s view and the second he moved aside, she saw you.

“Oh, shit,” you breathed out, then grunted and shifted your head to the side as a blade flew through the air where your left eye had been a second before. “Really?!” You growled and stood with the realisation that she was willingly engaging in open combat. Running past Loki, you leapt over a table and took a swipe at your former comrade with the butter knife - possibly the most infective weapon in this room.

The room erupted in a nervous buzz as you and Tatiana began duking it out, taking vicious hits and swipes at each other with any blade you could get your hands on. Loki stood and swiftly made his way over to join the fray, not before pulling out a vial of Banner’s Widow Antidote, ready to subdue Tatiana’s mind. Before he could get far, he felt a viciously sharp pain in his upper arm. He winced, clenching his jaw and turning with fury in his eyes to see the flirty woman, the one you’d copied, in a battle posture with a steak knife in hand. Another Widow.

Loki conjured a blade, finding his injured arm substantially weakened by the depth of her slice, but nevertheless began a duel with this vixen. Having the benefit of observing Romanoff, of training with her on occasion, of seeing you fighting in the training room, Loki had the upper-hand when it came to knowledge of his opponent. Understanding the way she would move, the attempts she would make, he was able to block her stabs even with his half-incapacitated arm. He was trying to not harm her as much as possible, just as you’d asked on the way to Switzerland, but a cry of pain that sounded a bit too much like you made the godly power boil over in his chest. He summoned a mighty magical force to his hand, and then blasted the Widow backwards. She flew nearly fifteen feet before colliding with an empty table and crumping to the ground. As she attempted to collect herself, Loki turned his attention to where Tatiana had your back bent over a table and her hand around your throat.

Before he could intervene, your fingers closed around the first thing they found, being a napkin. You flicked your wrist and lashed it in a whipping motion towards her eyes, causing her to cry out in agony and release you in favour of stumbling backwards, recoiling from the white-hot pain. Instead of wasting time finding another weapon, you wrung the thick white cloth in your hands and slipped behind the temporarily-blinded Tatiana, wrapping the cloth tight around her windpipe and kicking at the backs of her calves to force her to kneel.

“Now, Loki!” You motioned down, prompting him to grab hold of her mind so you could free her together, but suddenly another knife flew past your head. You both turned. That woman Loki had fought being still on the ground, you realised the knife had come from yet another Widow. This time, disguised as a chef. The chef nodded to who appeared to be an elegant older woman at a table with her friend in the corner, and they both stood with far too much dexterity to be as old as they appeared.

The room went near-silent as the innocent people cowered under tables and behind the bar. Dubois sat calmly at his table, casted a gaze up to you and cheers’ed his glass before downing his wine. Loki turned back to you and saw the realisation morph into your features, as you resigned yourself to the fact that you’d be set up.

This was a trap.

Your eyes met his and he could tell what you were thinking. With a forwards wave of his hand you two were suddenly in your tactical fighting clothing once again, and on the backwards flourish he summoned a blindingly bright ball of energy to shoot towards the women in the corner. They dove out of the way in time to see Loki‘s blade fly through the air and clip the thigh of the chef. Sufficiently distracting them, he watched as your heel connected to the place between Tatiana’s shoulder blades and she went tumbling to the ground. Then, you turned tail and ran.

Bursting out of the mountainside restaurant, you and Loki booked it down the dimly-lit driveway, feeling horribly exposed as bullets shot from the doorway whizzed past your head. Spotting a gap in the trees that lined the main road, you ran towards it with the expectation that Loki would follow you. As you broke into the steep forest and began running further into the dark, dense, snow-laden bush, you shouted to Loki to cover your tracks. And so he did, waving his good arm behind him to collapse the snow over your sets of footprints.

After a good twenty minutes of getting yourselves lost in the forest, you paused and leaned over, resting your hands on your knees as you gulped for air. The snow was now nearly waist-height, and it was taking some effort for the two of you to slog through it. Several long moments passed of your panting and sniffing with the cold, until you laughed bitterly and stood up straight. The moon wasn’t full that night, but your features were lit enough through the gaps in the pine trees for Loki to see the dark and frustrated look on your face.

“Well, that source is burned,” you scoffed. “They’ll know where we’re staying. We need to find somewhere to shelter for the night,” you said, then looked up to where the trees had been dripping with snow, dropping frost onto the two of you as you‘d made your way through the forest. “We also need to get dry.”

With his keen senses, Loki looked around through the trees and spotted something over a rocky expanse. “There,” he nodded, you turned around but shrugged.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Come,” Loki beckoned, still concealing your trail as best he could.

The something Loki had spotted turned out to be a small cabin in the woods. The shoulder-height chainlink fence surrounding the darkened property bore a sign saying tresspassers would be prosecuted, and that this house was property of the Swiss Nature Conservatory.

“It’s f-for the people who come out-t here to study wildlife,” you deduced from the sign. “The latch is frozen s-shut, the lights are off, I d-doubt anyone’s here.”

Ripping the frozen gate open, Loki moved with more urgency having heard the frost settle into your voice. He took a final look around as you walked up the wooden porch stairs and located a lockbox which certainly contained a key to enter. Once he was satisfied no one was watching, once his instincts told him you two were alone, he unlocked the front door with a wave of his hand.

“Man, y-you’re usef-ful,” you chuckled as you entered the cabin with him right behind you. Quickly locating a generator switch next to the front door, you pulled the small lever with your cold-shaken hands and a low hum resounded throughout the cabin.

A few wall lamps sprung to life, dimly lighting the small abode. The warm light hit a number of pieces of eclectic furniture, revealing a small, round dining table with three white wooden chairs, and one mismatched grey one. The old tile on the kitchen floor was oxidised with age, but still looked to be mostly in tact. The dust and dead bugs on the windowsills, and the general must in the air, told you both it’d been a while since anyone had stayed here.

The flickering lamp in the living room, which was just an offshoot from the kitchen, revealed a staunch, yet ragged, faded navy blue sofa which sat atop a fibrous wool rug that spanned nearly the entire wooden floor. Close behind the couch were a set of doors, presumably leading to bedrooms and bathrooms. There were only four doors, three on the wall behind the sofa, one on the opposite wall near the fireplace. Ah, thank the gods for a fireplace.

“Is that smart?” Loki referred to lighting the place up while he looked around the tiny kitchen he’d stepped into before closing the front door.

“We’ll t-turn it off b-before we sleep,” you answered. “It’ll be fine f-for now.”

“You need to warm up.”

“Y-you n-need first aid,” you motioned to his blood-soaked sleeve. “I’ll g-get a fire going,” you sniffed from the cold and crossed the length of the kitchen in a mere few strides, shakily breathing in relief when you saw the fire-making supplies were bountiful and plenty.

With a shake of his head, Loki dried his clothing and conjured his shirt away so he could assess the damage without having to tear a sleeve from his leather armour. The cabin was dry, at least, but the air still bit at his skin. Shooting a glance over to where you were gathering your fire-making supplies, he shuddered to think of how cold you must be. You must be numb with it, considering even his frost giant blood was on edge.

The cut was deep and jagged and ugly. The Widow had twisted the knife half-way through, leaving him the gift of torn and stinging skin. He pressed his other hand to the still-bleeding wound and began applying his magic deep into the tendons and muscle fibres which had been unceremoniously destroyed.

He raised his head when he heard you sigh in relief as the spark caught to the kindling. You knelt before the flame, trembling with the cold, and blew gently on the embers to bring them further into life. You worked naturally, flawlessly, as you fed sticks into the fire until you felt confident enough to place a couple of bigger logs around the small flame. Then, you noticeably shivered, quite violently, and let yourself fall backwards to sit on the rug and begin stripping the freezing wet clothes off your body. Loki, still sitting at the rickety table in the kitchen, wondered if he should exit the room, but you didn’t seem phased. You never did when it came to him.

He focused his gaze on the nearly-healed gash on his arm as he heard your jacket unzip, the clunking of boots tossed aside, the peeling of frosty skin-tight clothing away from your arms and legs. He heard your teeth chatter and your breath quiver and then he heard you settle. Finally daring another glance, he looked over to see you huddled in on yourself, facing the fire with your hands stretched towards it to warm them. You‘d taken yourself down to a sports bra and some skin-tight shorts that many Agents wore under their tactical clothing. Your forehead was against your knees as he heard you try to steady your frostbitten breathing. You began to relax, ever so slightly, as the warmth of the flame started to grace your nerves.

He squinted a bit in the low light, not sure if he was believing what he was seeing. Flecks of uneven skin showed in the dim lamp glow. The fire before you poured light onto your front and shadows over your shoulders, and Loki caught the painful memories woven into your skin. Countless tears, gashes, bullet holes, slices, Freyja knows what else, all healed over by your body’s natural process of regenerating. Some scars were so large they must have had surgical intervention to heal them, perhaps even most of them. Several minutes of silence passed as the fire grew and Loki looked on. Unable to tear his eyes away, unable to stop himself from standing, he finally released the magic from his arm to see not a hint of where the blade had sliced him. It seemed so unfair that you should be left with all those reminders. If only he’d been there for each and every one.

After conjuring a long-sleeved thermal shirt, he walked over to you before he had the wherewithal to stop himself from intruding on your space. He reached down and picked up your items of clothing, allowing a green magic to pass over and dry them. You looked up when he did so and smiled thankfully, then managed a dry chuckle through your shivering.

“Y-you c-couldn’t have d-d-done that before I st-stripped-d?” You joked. Loki knew you weren’t upset, so he allowed himself a small smirk.

“My magic was in use, I’m afraid,” he nodded to his now-healed arm and then placed your clothes on a chair beside him. “I can dry those too, if you’d like,” he gestured to the under-clothes still on you. You nodded without hesitation. He would have offered to conjure you more warm clothes, but he knew mortals well enough to know that what you needed right now was the warmth of this fire against your bare skin.

Loki walked over to crouch behind you, placed both hands on your shoulders, and allowed his magic to pass over your body. You shuddered under his touch, but almost rose to grow into it. The simple lifting of your shoulders to add more pressure to his hands against your skin made his breath catch in his throat.

“That felt strange,” you admitted, placing your forehead head back on your knees and sighing again. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Loki smiled, allowing himself to squeeze your shoulders affectionately. You sighed in contentment again, then turned your head, slid your hand over your knee and rested your cheekbone against it.

“Does it leave a s-scar? Your magic,” you asked, eyes fixed on your clean and dry clothes on the chair several feet away. Loki wondered if it was out of a longing to cover yourself back up, but he then noticed his hands were still on you, and that you appeared to be content with that.

“No,” he answered, daring to run his palms over the sides of your shoulders before removing them from your skin.

“I know it’s bad,” you spoke up, breaking the several seconds of silence that had fallen. “I d-don’t see the back of myself all too of-often, but I know it’s bad,” you clarified.

“I’m afraid I can’t do much now the wounds are healed,” Loki offered, wondering if your question about his magic was an attempt to surmount if he could wipe your slate clean. You shrugged with one shoulder, seemingly unfazed, noticeably shivering less now.

“That’s okay.”

“I wish I could help.”

“I’m not upset. Just thought it might be useful.”

Loki shifted to catch some of the fire warmth for himself, half-sitting behind you with one leg outstretched and one tucked underneath. He propped himself up by his hand and tilted his head to catch your eye. “That’s why you’ve never been to dinner.”

“Mmm,” you confirmed, nodding against the back of your hand. “Dinner table seduction only goes so far. Can’t really go undercover into someone’s bedroom after dinner if they can read your battle history when they take your clothes off,” you chuckled sarcastically, then lifted your head from your hand. “Haven’t broken that news to the Avengers yet.”

Loki felt the discomfort surge in his chest at the thought of you being assigned to such things. “The Avengers aren’t quite like that.”

“Not yet,” you sniffed, looking over at the fire. “Just you wait. The second it’s the best option, Rogers and Stark will send Nat in wearing a sexy dress and very little underneath.”

“You’re wrong,” Loki said firmly. The defence of the co-leaders left a sour taste in his mouth, but you seemed to believe him, and that seemed to make you feel a little more relaxed. “If you’re worried about what people would think if they saw-”

“I’m not. I don’t care what people think. Besides, in certain contexts, it‘ll weeds out the wimps.” He saw how your cheeks were pulled into a playful smirk so he let himself smile.

“Romanoff has nowhere near this level of scarring,” Loki commented, scooting himself to be situated more behind you to take another look.

“She got out sooner,” you said, looking over your shoulder from the corner of your eye. “Or maybe she was just a better Widow.”

Before fully considering the implications, Loki gently traced his thumb over a longer scar that began just under your neck and travelled several inches down the centre of your spine. It was thin, impeccably straight. You relaxed under his touch, noticeably so. So noticeably, he let himself consider you’d done it on purpose. To let him know it was more than okay for him to touch you.

“That one was surgery,” you explained, then titled your head in thought as Loki traced another scar close by. It looked almost like a bullet hole, but not nearly as neat. “Unmarked soviet slug.” Loki’s mind immediately latched onto the obvious connection but you seemed to catch the drift before he had to decide whether to speak it aloud. “Possibly Barnes. I haven’t asked.”

“If it was Barnes-”

“I’d probably be dead. I know. But Nat has one of his and she’s still here.”

Loki didn’t allow himself to dwell on the intimacy of the moment, lest insecurity grip either of you, as you let him touch your scars and you offered brief explanations. Sometimes it was a word, sometimes it was a short story.

“I got sliced by a branch of a fallen tree, the wound was wide but not deep,” you said as his finger pressed over a wide patch of scar tissue. He moved his hands, you always spoke.

“South Africa.”

“Another surgery. Kidneys.”

“Friendly fire.”

When he traced three identical lines near the centre of your spine, you paused. He saw your chest heave with a deeper breath and you turned your face more towards the fire. “Torture.”

Loki, before he could stop himself, placed his whole palm against the lines and willed all the magic in him to rid you of this memory.

“It’s fine,” you said, and reached behind yourself to close your fingers around his wrist. If you could feel his magic against you, it must be doing something. He ignored your tugs until he felt he’d done his best, but when he removed his hand they’d not shrunk one millimetre.

He couldn’t fix it. Maybe he could make it right.

“A name,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“Mikhail.”

“Where might I find him?”

“I buried him at sea.”

Loki tempered the rage swelling in his chest, not wanting to compromise the delicacy with which he was able to touch your skin. To compensate, he softened his touch further and ran his fingers along a small scar on the back of your lower ribs. As his fingers ghosted over the mangled skin, you shuddered and twitched beneath him. You subtly arched away and made a small noise of grimace, but didn’t otherwise verbally react. Loki felt his brow furrow, and felt a knowing smirk tug at his cheeks as he allowed himself the bravery to try elsewhere.

With less pressure than before, he brought five fingertips to a small collection of scars on your lower back. He grazed his fingers along the tiny cuts that had long since healed over, smiling to himself as you squirmed a little under his touch.

“I’d never think you one to be ticklish,” Loki commented with a mischievous smile curled into his words.

“I didn’t know I was,” you admitted. The casual indifference in your tone made Loki’s brow twist in confusion. You were telling the truth. He chuckled once through his nose and tried his feather-light touch near your shoulder, settling on scar that ran from your rotator cuff to somewhere concealed beneath your clothing. You shuddered and sniffled once, maybe in a small breathy giggle.

“Not one person has ever tickled you?”

You shook your head. “Why would they?”

Loki found himself at a loss for words. He could explain it was a form of playfulness, of affection, often used as an excuse to put your hands all over someone who’d taken your eye. He could tell you it was meant to be a game, to be fun, to punish for cheekiness or that some found it alluring. He held his tongue, knowing any one of those explanations implicated him as someone who wanted to have you close.

He decided on, “It’s a common experience.”

“I don’t have a lot of those.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he smirked and quickly found the sides of your ribs, pressing and wiggling his first two fingers into the bare skin. He felt you flinch before you crumpled backwards against him and let out a stream of surprised laughter. Your arms had pressed themselves to your sides and a uncharacteristic grin had spread its way across your cheeks. Loki‘s eyebrows shot up in surprise as your shoulders landed in his lap, and he stayed in that surprised state as you made no moves to get away from him.

“That… it…” You seemed to be attempting to describe why you reacted the way you did, so Loki returned your grin with a wide smirk.

“It tickled,” he finished with a warm chuckle. You quirked an eyebrow and started to realise your position. Desperately wanting you to know it was okay to stay where you were, Loki‘s eyes latched on to the scars that laced the fire-lit skin on your belly. Fewer than on your back, but your stomach and sides still had their fair share. He sighed sadly, and you followed his eye.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me,” you said in a low, reassuring voice.

“You’ve been torn to bits,” Loki‘s face fell. He shifted his hand over and ran his thumb along a jagged scar halfway between your side and your stomach. To his delight, you winced and squirmed, bringing a hand down to grab his. “Alright, I refuse to believe you‘d no idea you were ticklish,” he teased, evading your fingers to flit around the skin as it twitched beneath his touch. You spluttered and brought your other hand down to attempt to catch him. “You’re allowed to laugh,” he teased further. “It’s actually the whole point.” He pinched his hand at your hip on that last word and, after a surprised squeak, you shot a hand to your mouth in horror at the sound you’d just made.

“Ohokay,” you laughed nervously and lurched forwards. “Enough of that.”

As soon as you’d sat up, Loki opened his legs and reached his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. “That’s actually not up to you.” You seemed too surprised by the move to fight it. Then, he remembered: you were a Widow. You’d have fought it if you wanted to.

Loki’s heart beat harder as you let yourself be captured by him, only wriggling a little bit in his strong hold as he shifted his palms to rest at your sides.

“What are y-”

“Darling, you may not understand the politics of what is about to occur, but I have no doubt you’ll learn very quickly.” With that, he dug his wiggling fingers into the soft skin behind your sides and chuckled with delight as you immediately fell into a squirming laughter.

“Wait wahait!” Your warm laughter filled the cabin as Loki’s amused chuckles mixed in. “L-Loki!” You gasped as he pulled one hand away and grazed it under his other arm, skittering his fingers at the bare skin on your belly just above the waistband of your shorts. That really got you laughing. You yelled out in shock before throwing your head back against Loki’s shoulder, your chest heaving with laughter. You kicked your feet out and closed your hands around the fingers flitting at your navel, successfully wrapping them tight enough to stop them on their path.

“Tsk, you’re no fun,” Loki turned his head and teased his whispering lips near your ear, unwrapping his other arm to target the sensitive skin on your belly. Now free to move your body, you twisted between his lap with all ten fingers still wrapped around his one hand, but Loki’s arm caught you and held you sideways, both of your legs draped across his one of his. He looked upon your playful and warm smile, and it was the perhaps the most carefree he’d ever seen you.

Gods, what he’d give to kiss you right now.

Oh. That was a thought he’d tried to suppress.

He looked back at your stomach and focused in on a scar, wondering if he could get you talking and keep you like this for just a bit longer. “This one,” he nodded, firming his hand under and around your waist to keep you close to him without tickling you. You precious thing, you leaned your side against his chest and released his hand to let him trace the skin once more.

“Careful,” you warned with a coy grin before reclining and looking at the skin Loki traced. A soft smile stayed beautifully on your lips as you tensed, trying not to squirm away from Loki’s touch. “That was from a scimitar,” you said, barely above a whisper. His fingerprint grazed the scar with enough pressure to not be unbearable, and he felt you relax into him once more.

When he soon lightened his touch as he travelled to another bullet wound, you giggled once and turned to hide your face against his chest. Oh, this was undeniable. Loki found his jaw tensing as he forced himself to look away and try knocking some sense into his mind.

You’re a god, he told himself. A powerful, brilliant, god. Midgard has made you weak. Filled you with sentiment.

Loki cursed himself as he longed to pull you even closer. How much easier this would all be, he thought, if you were simply beautiful; he could be himself about it. Seduce you, proposition you, see that gleam of desire in your eye, throw you against the wall and kiss you senseless until you’d both had your fun. But you weren’t just beautiful and you weren’t just a piece of fun. That made things, for him, uncharacteristically complicated.

Loki tried to listen as you told him the story of the scimitar scar. How you’d fought, how you’d escaped, how you managed to get them in the end. There was an eerie calmness in the way you so easily described how you killed an enemy, and Loki saw too much himself in that. It was perhaps his least favourite thing about you.

There were many things about you that were like him. But so many that were the polar opposite.

Your lives began the same way. Both of you cast out, both of you taken by an enemy. However, those who’d taken him in cared for him, taught him to live well, given him love and a family. Those who’d taken you did so knowing they’d throw you away the second you were deemed to be unworthy, useless, degenerate. Much as King Laufey had seen him.

Where Loki’d been given attention and love, you’d been given training and reprimand. Where he’d been given a title and a brother, you’d been given a number and an alias. When he’d been given a chance to break free from his expectations, he attempted tyranny. When you’d been given the same chance, you saved the Avengers’ mission from failing. You became a hero.

How he wished he could bend time and trade places so you could have grown up in the golden palace of Valaskjalf, having flowers braided into your hair, being taught arts and languages and that you were worthy of so much more than the life you’d been made to live. Perhaps then you’d know how you were far too good to be falling all over the lap of the likes of him. Maybe if you’d received true love growing up, you’d be less okay with a would-be tyrant’s hands all over you.

But he could not change time, and he could not change you. The more he settled into the feeling of you against his arms, his legs, his chest, the feeling of your skin against his fingers, the less will he had to pull away and declare you foolish for trusting him like this. Eventually, your story ended, and the way you smiled contentedly got the best of him. So he moved his fingers to a lightened and raised patch of skin just below your ribs.

“Another Soviet slug?” He poked his finger into the scar. You twitched and gave him a scolding look.

“Some empathy you’ve got,” you scoffed. “I‘ll have you know that was a good old fashioned Midwestern American cop.”

“Ooh,” Loki winced. “That’s got to sting.”

“The wound? Healed. My pride? Irredeemably shattered.”

“And now it’s a reminder that even a slippery little spy can be sniped by Ohio’s finest,” Loki taunted with another tickling dig at the wound. You bit back a laugh and grabbed his hand.

“Michigan‘s finest” you corrected. “And it was point-blank. Hardly sniped.”

“Perhaps I’ll try erasing this one for you. It seems to be particularly painful.” Loki winked and flatted his palm over the wound to seep his magic into your skin, clawing all five fingers against the flesh they rested upon. You yelped and fell back into giggles, pressing harder into his chest as you sought refuge from his hand. “Come now, you’re stronger than this,” Loki ducked down to make you look at him as he teased you. You hid your face again, but then pulled back and thrashed as the hand holding you close joined the attack, fingers hooking into a space on your lower ribs. “Oho! Some fight in you, now?”

As he redoubled his effort at your ribs, he slid the hand at your side down to knead at your hipbone. You burst into loud laughter, shaking in ticklish helplessness as Loki’s attack on one side of your body kept you pulled into him. When you finally gained control of the arm that’d been clamped over his attack on your ribs, you wrapped your fingers around the hand at your hip and yanked on it through your laughter. He responded by twisting out of your grip, snatching your wrist, pulling it away from your body and slithering the hand at your ribs up to dig into the soft skin beneath your arm.

“H-HEHEY!” You yelled and thrashed in his hold, twisting your body almost entirely towards him as you laughed heartily into his chest. He took the chance to pull you close, your chest flush and sideways against his, his fingers still wedged beneath your arm and digging into the soft skin. He grazed the fingers of his other hand down the width of your back as his free arm hooked under your torso and grabbed at your waist. “Okahay! Okay, Lokihi!” You laughed hysterically and squirmed against his trapping hold.

“If this is truly your first time being tickled, I certainly can’t go easy on you, can I?” Loki teased with his lips dangerously close to your ear. “We’ve got a lifetime to make up for, darling.”

“Oho my GOHOD!” You giggled, then shrieked into his bicep when he used the the fingers at your waist to scratch maddeningly at your bare skin. His fingers quickly found the unevenness of another scar, making him grin with a devious idea to tease you further.

“Tell me about this one,” he spoke casually, wiggling his fingers over the raised skin. You yelped and jumped, still clamping your arm hard against his fingers twitching in your armpit. “Tsk, it’s a rather sensitive one,” he taunted, quickly swiping at it with one finger as he wiggled his thumb into the side of your belly. You threw your head back and laughed even harder. Loki was delighted to see your closed eyes, rosy cheeks and the big ticklish grin spread into your cheeks. “Ignoring me isn’t going to help your case,” he scolded in a gravelly whisper, scratching four fingers at the scar. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

You let out a giggly scream against his shoulder and finally manoeuvred your body to roughly twist away from him. You tumbled out of his lap and rolled a few feet in front of him, landing on your back as you sought to catch your breath. Loki, seeing the enjoyment in your body language, went after you.

He was beside you in a second, grappling with you for your wrists until he caught one in each hand. He chuckled as he swung a leg over your hips, “You’re a quick learner,” he smirked. “So I should explain tickling is also a method used to extract information. Tell me the story of that scar.”

“Torture doesn’t work on me,” you scoffed as he pinned your wrists above your head in one of his own hands. “If you don’t believe me, you could dig up Mikhail’s bones from the Caspian Sea and ask him.”

“Consider this a bribe, then,” Loki squinted at you, reading your willing cheekiness in the way your eyes gleamed with firelight. He, ever so softly, began grazing his fingers against the scar. Those same sparkling eyes shut as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’ll stop if you tell me.”

“Yohou’re a menace,” you huffed between giggles, clearly trying to surmount if you could block out the feeling.

“Such a shame you’ve had no training on how to withstand this,” Loki sighed.

“P-perhahaps I’ll have you trahain me,” you grunted, then giggled harder when he picked up the pace of his fingertips. “S-seems like a- AH! Aha good skihill,” you fell into more solid laughter as Loki wiggled his fingers deeper against the skin.

“And relinquish my advantage?” Loki chuckled, “Tell me the story.”

He grinned as you tried to suppress a shriek and fell into frantic laughter when he hooked a thumb against your lowest ribs, wiggling it into the spaces between the bones. “AHH!” You yelped out and jolted when he found a particularly sensitive rib, focusing his efforts there as you were clearly attempting to begin blocking your mind against it.

“None of that,” he tutted, releasing his hand to not give you the time to get used to the sensation.

You huffed up at him and started to catch your breath. “How do I block it out?”

He smirked and fluttered his fingers against your exposed underarm. Your heel slammed into the ground behind his back as you laughed breathily, sniffing and trying to turn the feeling into something bearable. Just as he saw you begin to stop struggling as hard, he dragged his fingers up to tease against the impossibly soft skin of your inner bicep.

“W-whahat?!” You wheezed and kicked your feet harder, digging your bare heels into the rug in an attempt to gain traction to throw Loki off of you. He began lightly scratching all five fingers against the skin and you shattered the cool mountain air with high-pitched laughter.

“This is most entertaining,” Loki mused, trailing his fingers over to graze at your neck. You shuddered beneath him and bit back breathy giggles, twitching under his touch.

“H-hohow are thehere so many pla-haces?” You winced and giggled as he kept your nerves on edge.

“You may be exceptionally ticklish.”

“Dahammit. T-teach me,” you growled and looked up at him firmly. “How to withstand it.”

Loki sighed and smiled, “Where does it tickle most?”

“Around that scar,” you nodded towards the place where your stomach met your side.

“Lesson one,” Loki placed his fingers back on that space. “Never give up your vulnerabilities.”

You fell into loud laughter when Loki began scratching his fingers against the sides of your belly. He grinned as you thrashed wildly beneath him, arching your back only for him to spider his fingers in the very centre of your stomach where it had lifted highest off the ground. You slammed your back down onto to carpet and fell into hiccupy giggles.

“Besides, I recall this spot being rather effective,” Loki called to you, then latched his hand around your hip and drilled his thumb into the soft space next to the bone. He was beyond pleased to watch you jolt and fall into desperate cackling, your legs scrambling behind him. So he released your hands in favour of attacking both hips simultaneously, an endeared smile pulling across his cheeks as you, stomach tensed, weakened by laughter, tried to sit up to fight him off.

Your grip tugged at his shoulders, then fell to his forearms and then to his wrists as his onslaught brought you back to your laying-down position. You simply couldn’t hold yourself up, disoriented from the relentless steady drilling of his thumbs against your hips. He was so focused on your rosy laughing cheeks, he surprised himself when his body reacted to some icy fingertips tickling at the skin of his lower belly. He flinched backwards, holding in a laugh, and grabbed at your wrists that you’d slipped beneath his shirt.

“You are learning,” Loki smirked.

“Let me have a turn,” you panted.

He felt laughter rumble through his chest as you pulled on your wrists. “That’s not how it works.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “I let you tickle me.”

“You let me?” Loki laughed again.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “… Yes?”

Loki felt his heart beat warmly against his chest as he couldn’t stop the amused grin spreading into his cheeks. Even if you thought you could escape, you hadn’t wanted to. Loki smiled, beyond endeared.“Why would you let me?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be some kind of bonding exercise? It’s supposed to be fun.”

“I suppose.”

“Then…” You shrugged as best you could with your wrists in his hold, “Why wouldn‘t I?”

“You’d really submit to my hands all over you, weeding out your little weak points?” The question tumbled from his lips before he had the wherewithal to stop it. Immediately regretting it, he followed up with, “Besides, I don’t believe you’re in the position to be making demands.”

Loki couldn’t have explained how it happened, what the exact sequence of events was, the way you twisted your hands or turned your body with deadly precision, but he knew that in less than three seconds he went from a position of power to being flat on his back with your legs around his waist and your hand at his throat.

You leaned in and let a smile come to your cheeks at Loki’s surprise. Your hand at his throat wasn’t holding hard, just enough to make your point. “I let you,” you repeated. His eyes locked with yours, the licks of flame sparking in your gaze. He again wondered if he should offer to conjure you some more clothes, but you still seemed perfectly comfortable considering you hadn’t made a move for your dried laundry on the armchair. “Will you let me?”

Loki had to chuckle at the question. “You’ve still got lots to learn, love.” He brought his hands to your hips and sat up slowly underneath you, giving you the chance to unfold your feet and slide down to sit in the gap between his legs, your knees slightly bent over each his thighs. The earnest and somewhat confused look in your eye pulled on his heart. How had you never done this before? It seemed such a basic universal experience. “Tickling isn’t something participants usually submit to,” he explained, taking your hands in his.

“Why not?”

“It can be unbearable. Too much.”

“But not always.”

“Not always. And some pretend to not submit, as the chase can be part of the fun, but they enjoy the playfulness and the intimacy nonetheless.”

“Intimacy.”

“Hmm, yes,” Loki looked at your hands before guiding them to either side of his waist, slipping them beneath the hem of his shirt. “Pure romance, it is,” he murmured, “Knowing someone’s most ticklish spot.”

“How so?”

“There’s an inherent intimacy in bestowing that trust. Allowing someone to know just how to touch you,” Loki said, his voice low and thoughtful as he handled your palms in his grasp, the pads of his fingertips taking in the ridges and callouses. “Giving them the power over you. Knowledge of how to pull you apart with their bare hands.”

“What are you doing?

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I have a lot of questions,” you said, watching curiously as Loki settled your hands against the bare skin of his sides. “I don’t understand things like this.”

“I’m letting you have a turn,” he sighed, thanking every god he knew that no one could see him now. Not Thor, nor the Warriors Three, the Avengers or the other agents. How they’d laugh at the mighty God of Mischief submitting himself in such a way. “You’ll have to be quick. I‘ll fight you from instinct.”

Having learned from Loki, you took to scratching and wiggling your fingers against the skin on his sides where he’d placed your hands. Your touch sent ticklish sparks through his muscles, up his torso and into his neck. Loki clenched his fists on the ground and they turned white as he willed himself to not reach out and stop you.

“You’re not laughing,” your brow lowered in annoyance, and you slipped your hands around the front to flutter your fingers against the centre of his belly. A deep rumbling laughter bubbled over from his chest at the feeling of your fingers lightly prodding against the vulnerable area. “Ah,” you nodded, then grinned, and became a little braver. Throwing yourself against him you wrapped your arms all the way around his waist and dug your fingers deep into the backs of his ribs. Laughter ripped through Loki’s chest, he brought his arms up to wrap around your shoulders so he wouldn’t grab your hands. He let himself twitch and laugh under your searching fingers until he couldn’t stand it any longer and made a play for your arms.

“There you ahare,” he sniffed and smiled down at you. The goofy grin on your face told him you’d had far too much fun.

“That was nothing compared to what you did to me,” you argued, pulling on your hands to signal the intent to continue.

“You’ll have to get stronger then, little spy,” he smirked. “A god doesn’t submit to such things.”

“You just did,” you argued further.

“Perhaps we’ll have a proper grapple in a place better suited,” Loki nodded to the fireplace and released your wrists. “Then you can try earning it.”

“Earning your most ticklish spot?” You asked, head hung as you inspected your sensitive scar with your own fingers. He bit his tongue, unravelling the implications behind your words whilst watching you try repeating the movement against your own skin.

“It won’t work on yourself,” he explained, avoiding your question. You looked up quizzically, prompting him to explain further. “If your body fully understands what it is, if your own hand is performing the action, it won’t work.”

“I suppose that makes it more romantic.” You commented innocently, squinting a bit. “Because you can‘t figure out your most ticklish spot on your own. You need someone else.”

Loki’s mouth twitched into a nervous smile. “I suppose.”

“So I need to tell my brain it’s not a threat,” you nodded, turning back to the facts. “That’s how to overcome it.”

“Correct,” Loki’s smile became tainted with a hint of sadness at the beginnings of the loss of his way to make you laugh. “Master that, and you’ll be immune from my vicious attacks.”

You actually laughed out loud at that, a wide smile pulling onto your cheeks. You looked up at him, eyes soft and full of comfort, then looked back at your own skin. “Vicious?” You chuckled and adjusted the waistband of your shorts before leaning back and propping yourself up with your hands behind you. You looked at the fire, a smile still playing on your lips. “I think that was the most care with which anyone’s ever touched me.”

As Loki looked that the small shadows cast across your torso from where the firelight caught the topography of your scars, he remembered your words from earlier. “In the right context, it weeds out the wimps.” Here you were, completely vulnerable in front of him. Battle history on display, allowing him to touch you, to undo you, to find the places on your skin that made you crumple and twist against him. To laugh with abandon. Engaging in the romanticism of allowing him to know just how to touch you.

You were testing him.

Here you were in very little clothing, falling over him and pulling him close, but what if he was just a beautiful piece of fun to you? What if you were bored, or just looking for satisfaction? For un-aloneness.

Even if you’d had no idea who he was when you first laid eyes on him, you’d certainly have heard the stories by now. You’d know details about what he’d said and done. To Barton, to Romanoff, to the Avengers, to New York, to your world.

Yet here you were, testing him.

As he looked over the collection of your trauma, your skin a map of the suffering you’d endured, it hit him that you remembered each one. The reason it happened, the way it happened. You remembered the pain. Something deep within him emotionally recoiled at the thought of you enduring more pain on account of him. Barton, Romanoff, the Avengers, New York, your world. He’d hurt them all. He’d sooner leave this realm and never return before allowing himself hurt you too.

No, he couldn’t do this.

“You’ve no idea what you’re doing.” The words left his lips, calling out your not-so-subtle ways of tempting him.

“I’ve made that much clear.” You met his gaze and sat up straighter.

Loki chuckled, but more scoffed, and shook his head. “This is madness. You desires are madness.”

“You’re going to sit there and tell me you don’t feel anything?”

“I feel like there’s a very pretty little thing sitting in front of me. One who’s been trying to tempt me all evening.”

“That’s all I am to you?”

Loki clenched his jaw, seeing the skepticism in your eye.

“If that’s the case…” You tilted your head to the side in consideration. “Why hasn’t it worked?”

“Who’s to say it hasn’t?”

You laughed at his words again, pulling your knees back from over his, bringing them to your chest, resting your chin on your arms wrapped around them. You looked to the dwindling fire and sighed. “If I was just a pretty little thing to you…” you looked back at him, a slight victorious smile playing at your lips, “We’d have been in there a long time ago.” You glanced and nodded towards the bedroom, then back to confront him with your stare. “You wouldn’t be asking stories about my scars, threatening captors from my history. You would have kissed me already.”

“Watch yourself,” Loki felt his eyes turn dark.

“But you can’t, can you?”

“Provoking a god is inadvisable.”

“I’m not provoking,” you shot back, sitting up straighter. “I’m giving you a chance to be honest.”

“I’m the God of Lies.”

“Then lie to me. Tell me you feel nothing, then let’s have some meaningless fun.”

“No.”

“You don’t want to, or it wouldn’t be meaningless?”

“I said no.”

A log cracked in the dying fire and Loki saw the flash of confusion cross your face. He set his jaw, giving you nothing with his look.

You nodded and made to stand up. “Understood,” you got to your feet and stepped around him. You didn’t say anything as he heard the sounds of fabric and buckles as you replaced your dry clothes on your body. The dwindling flame would soon only be embers in the stone fireplace. Loki wondered if he should tend to it. Stoke the flame, or let it go cold. The cold wouldn’t affect him as much as it would you, but you’d covered yourself more and there had been lots of blankets in both the bedrooms, so he didn’t touch it.

You walked around the back of the couch towards the smaller room with the smaller bed, boots in hand. “We should leave at first light.” You paused in your doorway, stuck your tongue against the inside of your cheek, cleared your throat, then turned to switch on the small lamp in your room, the one that sat on a table next to you. “What just occured? I won’t bring it up again,” you promised politely, not quite meeting his eye, then shut the door.

The pressure shift in the room extinguished any flame that may have still remained in the fireplace, the smoky embers now glowing as small pricks of orange. The room was mostly dark, now only lit from those wall lamps. Standing and moving to turn off the generator, he let the darkness wash over him. The frosty air, the aloneness of the room, the silence. He could hear you preparing for sleep in the room you’d taken. You were probably sleeping in your clothes to be prepared to run should someone find you two here. The rusty springs of your mattress squeaked a few times, then it was truly silent.

Loki watched the embers fade, focusing his gaze on the blaze’s gravesite as he ruminated on what‘d just occurred. He wished it had bothered him more - that you’d walked out, that you’d promised to never speak of it again. Perhaps he didn’t have feelings for you beyond attraction, if he was able to let you walk out so easily. Or, perhaps, he was too shocked to feel the initial blow and he’d feel the dull ache in the morning, or only see the scars of his decision years down the line.

As he settled himself into his own creaky bed minutes later, he allowed himself to believe he did the right thing by you. It would’ve felt, for lack of a better word, gross. A gross dishonesty to allow you to proceed with him when he was convinced you’d no idea who he really was. If you did, you wouldn’t look at him like that. If you knew the depths pain he was sure he’d have eventually inflicted upon you, you’d never look at him again.

On the trip home and the several days after Switzerland, Loki was surprised to find that you didn’t ice him out after his rejection of your advances. Something had changed, but you weren’t acting like a scorned lover, and that was at least a small relief.

But, again, something had changed. He first noticed it around five days after you’d both returned, the first time you were back in a large group setting. It was a dinner with most of the team and Pepper had entered to announce the anniversary gala being held in honour of Stark Industries the following Saturday. Loki saw the way the table accepted the news and buzzed with the prospect of a party and limitless alcohol, and then he saw Pepper approach you.

“You’re of course very much wanted in attendance,” she smiled warmly. You smiled back, that smile reserved for her that wouldn’t at all hurt her feelings, and you thanked her for her hospitality.

Now, usually, that would be followed by an exchange of looks with Loki. Some sly, meaning-filled flash of your eyes to make a joke or a comment that he’d understand, but you just looked back at your plate, and then over to where Sam was telling some story. Loki looked at you for a few more seconds until his brother commanded his attention, and he regretfully ripped his glance away.

He then realised you’d stop treating him differently than you treated the others. You weren’t unkind, but you’d stopped giving him the allowance of a glimpse into your psyche, into your secret thoughts and quips as a fellow observer on the outskirts of this team. When you’d meet his eye in a conversation, there was not one hint of the fireside vulnerability. No, that vulnerability was left behind in a mountainside cabin belonging to Swiss Nature Conservatory.

Now with the insight of what lay beneath, Loki began noticing, realising, that you always wore clothes that completely covered yourself. He did too, of course, as he always had, but his was a choice devoid of the desire to hide. Whereas your decision to wear long sleeved everything seemed to be a begrudging one. Something you sometimes wished you didn’t have to do. Or maybe it was habit.

It was hard to tell, now, what you really thought about things.

The following Saturday evening Loki heard you still in your room as he passed by on his way to join Thor in a car to the gala. His focus on an adjustment of his cuff link was taken by your sigh, and so he dared a peak into your near wide-open door. There you stood, looking at yourself in a mirror with far too little enthusiasm for how undeniably gorgeous you were. He saw you catch him lurking, but you didn’t acknowledge him, you just moved to sit and pull on some simple strapped heels.

“You’ll be quite warm in there,” Loki commented from your doorway. You didn’t react, didn’t look up from where you were securing the strap of your shoe, not until it was done.

“I’ll be fine,” you replied shortly, standing from your place on the ottoman at the end of your bed, smoothing out the silky fabric of the floor-length black gown. The sleeves hugged your shoulders down to your wrists, the bodice fitted down to the hips until it fell in a shimmering cascade of elegance down to just above your toes. Loki couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been inspired by the dress he’d conjured for you, considering the similarities.

“Is this all you have?” He nodded to the dress as you picked up a simple black clutch purse from the end of your bed.

“Rude,” you scoffed with a wry half-smile.

“It’ll be crowded,” Loki explained. “You look… exquisite, I merely-”

“I chose this dress from a rack of many- did you need something?” You finally looked up and locked eyes with him, and he noticed how well you’d done your makeup. Accentuating all the right features, impeccably applied, highlighting that gleam of attraction in your eye so well he considered perhaps it was always there, not just for him. “Loki,” you caught his attention, walking towards him as you slotted the phone in your purse. “Did you need something?” You stopped right in front of him, looking up into his stare, the way your cheek moved told him you were biting your tongue.

“No,” he responded. You nodded, then fixed your gaze past him down the hallway before stepping around his body and making your way towards the cars. He followed you with his eyes, noticing the only slivers your skin visible below the high neck of the dress were on your hands and feet. Your hair fell in soft waves behind your shoulders, covering the back of your neck.

Yes, you were making it clear: no one gets to see that much of you.

Loki let you round a corner before making his way to the cars, giving you time to chose one that would have no room for him. However, when he got there he found the time you’d taken to get ready meant you were seated in the last vehicle, with no one else in it. He sighed and ducked his head into the doorway.

“I can find another way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you chuckled dryly. “Get in, we need to leave.”

The ride there was mostly silent, until near the end when Loki asked if you’d received any more intel. To his relief, you didn’t ignore him. Again, you treated yourself with the dignity of not behaving like a scorned lover, even though he felt he may deserve it for how long he’d let himself touch you that evening.

“That dirty source went dark. Which, I mean… good riddance. Barnes actually mentioned he might have some chatter. Old Winter Soldier contacts.”

“Barnes.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, looking out the window. It would have been easy for you to make some comment, even spin a lie, about how Barnes was going to join you on the mission. Loki was glad you didn’t, considering the jealousy he already felt rising from his chest to tighten his throat. You even could’ve made some vindictive remark about how that unmarked Soviet slug behind your shoulder wasn’t his, to make Loki think you’d shown your history to someone else out of spite. Somehow, the fact that you hadn’t made it that much worse; it made clear that your vulnerability wasn’t a pawn you played with abandon, but a powerful Queen now retreated behind the army to keep out of harm‘s way.

Romanoff had waited for you outside and when you saw her your shoulders dropped the tension Loki’d barely noticed you’d been holding. A relieved smile formed against your muted crimson lipstick as she looped her arm through yours and led you into the lavish towering building, straight up to the penthouse ballroom.

Loki followed, close by, rode the same elevator, but almost immediately broke off when he stepped out of it into the bustling and crowded room. A large brass band played in the corner and the building was alive with celebration. Stealing a glance at you, seeing you gauge the unfamiliar territory of simply being a guest, he surmounted that you would be okay. Then, he went to find himself a very strong drink.

Elbow against the bar, The God of Mischief looked out over the mass of Midgardians as they ate and drank and schmoozed and pretended to like each and every person they met. Observing the hoards of diamond-laden patrons, he downed his drink and then ordered another. The band kept playing some roaring jazz which, even Loki could admit, was exceptionally well performed. The dance floor opened and several couples jived and spun elegantly, all the people invited to this party being the sort who actually knew how to do that kind of thing without mortally embarrassing themselves in public.

Catching a glimpse of you in a conversation with Sam, Loki set aside his jealousy and allowed himself to be thankful such a man’d found you here. Wilson was gifted at making people feel comfortable, and Loki hadn’t failed to notice that The Falcon was one of the few people who could make you smile on the days you were regressing. Falling inwards.

The more he saw you from across the room, the more he ached for your company. You seemed to be the only person who was on the same page as him at all times, always. He longed for those looks you’d shoot him across the room, the smirks and winks and exchange of information that was held in a lingering gaze. It was more than camaraderie. Much more. Much deeper. Finally, it bothered him that you’d walked out that night in the cabin. That he’d let you. Asked you to.

Thor approached the bar, interrupting his younger brother’s downward spiral, and pulled a bottle from a pocket in his suit.

“Thank the Norns,” Loki sighed, sliding his glass over in request for some of the Asgardian spirits.

“Loki, come talk with the scientist I met.”

“Brother, I-”

“Lurking by the bar all night is not becoming of a Prince, nor an Asgardian,” Thor clapped him on the shoulder, leaving no room for debate with that declaration. Begrudgingly, Loki entered a conversation with a scientist whom he quickly learned was not a bore, and not horrifically ill-informed about matters of the universe. Making sure he was facing the wider room, he listened and discussed with the scientist and his brother for a surprisingly long while, every so often looking up to clock where you were, to make sure you were okay. Which felt unfair to you, that he was keeping tabs.

Then, one time he looked up, he couldn’t find you. The room was crowded, yes, but it was like he’d been attuned to the specific way the light hit your hair. He waited several minutes, because perhaps you were in the bathroom. But he still couldn’t find you. Excusing himself, Loki went in search. Weaving through New York’s elite and the higher-ups at Stark Industries, Loki copped his fair share of scowls and shying aways but he had more pressing matters to attend to. What if you’d left?

After searching far and wide, Loki finally caught a glimpse of someone out on a balcony. The glass door to it was off to an uninhabited section of the room, so he was fairly confident you’d taken your leave there. As he approached the door it again felt unfair to you, that he’d come looking. Let her see your selfishness, Loki told himself as he broke away from the noise and onto the balcony.

New York City had never been quiet, but compared to the tank of sound he’d just stepped out of, this balcony felt as peaceful the corner of the palace library he’d hide away in when he was younger. Or maybe that was just your presence.

You peeked over your shoulder to see Loki approaching, then turned back to the skyline. “I needed some air,” you answered his wordless question as his hand met the rail next to where you were leaning on your elbows.

“It is rather stuffy in there.”

“Come here to gloat about how I should have heeded your advice and not worn long sleeves?”

“I came here for the same reasons as you. I can only stand the people in there for so long.”

He saw you fight a smile. “It feel aimless being here without an objective. I mean, why do people do these things?” You nodded behind him to the party, then finally locked eyes with his, a wry smile on your cheeks. “If not to give assassins the perfect cover. Seriously, they’re just asking for it at this point.”

“Perhaps you should run a seminar.”

“I can’t give away all my secrets. They’ll need them one day.”

Loki remembered your words in the cabin, how you’d assumed Stark and Rogers would use you and Natasha. Use your skills. Use your bodies. He set his jaw, then turned back to look over the city, still several feet away from you. “You don’t trust them. The Avengers.”

You chuckled once, bitterly. “Not yet.”

His eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, his questioning glance still casted over Manhattan. “You trust me. Even after Switzerland. Why?”

“Because you don’t hide the things you’ve done.”

The exchange happened so nonchalantly Loki might’ve blinked and missed it, but it finally made sense to him. His dirty secrets were out in the open, so were many of yours, all of those around you knew about the bad things you’d done. About who you were. You probably saw it as an unfair advantage and you were waiting for the other shoe to drop - to be sent in with a kill order, or to be sent in wearing very little clothing to seduce a target. You were waiting for the moment they revealed that all you were to them was a Widow.

You pulled at the high neck of your dress and Loki saw, even in the early spring air, that you were uncomfortably warm. He sighed and made his offer, “Allow me to conjure you a different dress. You’re clearly uncomfortable.”

“Either I‘m uncomfortable or everyone else is,” you smiled begrudgingly. “Tony caught a glimpse of…” you gestured to your own body, mainly to your back, “All of that, and offered to arrange some kind of laser skin therapy- I don’t know the details,” you brushed it off with a weak wave of your hand, still looking down across Manhattan.

“I thought you didn’t care what people think.”

You were silent for a beat. You smiled, looking up at the cloudy light-polluted sky, then back at your own hands before ducking your head in concession. “I didn’t.”

“What changed?”

You sniffed, your jaw tensed, your mouth curled into a wry smile. “Before I showed you, you looked at me a certain way. I liked the way the looked at me. Now it’s different.”

You’re one to talk, Loki shot the comeback through his stare.

“That wasn’t the reason.” Loki was then silent, prompting you to reply, but you didn’t, so he stepped back in. “I find myself drawn to you in a way I’ve never known,” he spoke to you by way of the night sky. “You know you’re beautiful, there’s no doubt in that, but beauty is easy to resist. Scars or not, you have this… this allure, this charm, an enticing demeanour. That’s a lot of power for a mortal to hold over a god.”

You turned back to the sky and sighed. “So it’s because I’m mortal.”

“It‘s because it wouldn’t have been right by you.”

“What?”

“I not willing to let you become another person I hurt. You’ve no idea who I really am. What I’m capable of.”

“What on Earth gave you that idea?”

Loki let out a breath and looked out over the city he once sought to destroy. “I could see it in your eyes the first day you arrived. You weren’t afraid. You didn’t know me.”

“That’s not true,” you shook your head. “I knew exactly who you were.”

“You don’t know all the things I’ve done,” he continued. “The pure treachery of it all.”

“That’s why you pushed me away?” You stood up taller and turned to face him, placing a hand against the railing much as he did. “Because you’re afraid of hurting me?”

“Look there,” he pointed to an empty lot with a sharpness in his command. “At that building foundation that’s just been poured. That used to be a twenty-two story apartment complex. Would you like to wager a guess at how it came crashing down?”

“This is different, I’m not a building, Loki-”

He digressed, “Or how about a guess at how many were inside when it did collapse-”

“You’re projecting what you did then onto what you might do now. I’m not some brick and mortar that’ll blow up if you get too close!”

Loki seethed in pained frustration. “If I get too close, I will hurt you-“

“You already have!”

If he was a mere mortal man, he’d perhaps have recoiled at the angry desperation in your voice. He set his jaw and shook his head the smallest amount. “This is different. The pain of this is nothing compared to what I’m capable of.”

Your lips parted with the beginning of your response, but you closed them again before looking out over the cityscape. The lights from the city betraying the fact your eyes had gone a bit glassy. Swallowing hard, you shut your eyes, then released a resigned breath Loki hadn’t realised you’d been holding. You looked back over to him and sighed in defeat, near-whispering, “You’ve already hurt me, Loki.”

You took a step forward, taking his hand at the railing and guiding it towards yourself. He allowed you to place his palm against that wildly sensitive place on your side. The one below the bullet hole from Michigan, to the left of the scimitar scar. The scar you hadn’t told him the story of.

He remembered it well. It was long, curved, the wound must have been deep when it was inflicted. The way it widened near the top made him assume a blade had been plunged in and pulled upwards, but he couldn’t know for sure. The fabric of your dress was thin enough, and the scar prominent enough, for him to feel it against his palm beneath your gown.

“No,” he breathed out, feeling a sick twisted knot in his stomach when he realised what you were about to say.

You looked at his hand, closing your fingers around his wrist to hold it there. “I got this scar in 2012. Right here in New York City.” Then, you looked up at him and let the roots of your words catch hold. He very quickly put the pieces together; you had that scar because of his attack.

Because of him.

He set his jaw and tried to pull his hand away, but you held fast. He pulled harder but you stayed firm, stumbling forward with his tug as he tried to take his hand off the horrifying agony he’d inflicted. Loki felt the pain and humiliation, the pure horror, pricking against his eyes as he tried to find the words to meet your sad and earnest gaze. He stopped struggling, taking in the sheer size of the scar, allowing the shame to strike through him as penance.

“I was in the city on an assignment to take out the assistant manager of a hedge fund. I was supposed to make it look like an accident,” you started. “Then, suddenly, the sky opened up. Before I knew it, I was on the wrong end of an ugly alien’s spear,” you said, all too casually. “It actually made my mission a lot easier, considering the invasion took care of it for me.”

Loki winced and tried again to pull his hand away, not feeling he had any right to tell you what to do. “Please.”

“You’ve already hurt me, so what‘s your excuse now?” You took a brave and shaky breath in, finally releasing his wrist. He retracted it like a wounded dog.

The silence hung thick amidst the white noise of the city until Loki managed a small scoff. “I belong in the depths of the Caspian Sea with all others who’ve hurt you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’d only hurt you more.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“You deserve far better.”

“And you deserve much more mercy than you’re affording yourself.” You reached out and took his hand, guiding it back towards that place on your side. “As someone who’s felt the pain you can inflict…” He bit back a grimace as he allowed you to drape his palm over the damage he’d caused. “I’m okay, and I forgive you.”

Loki audibly winced at your confession, his heart and eyes and lungs stinging with his regret at pushing you away. Yet, here you were, still close to him. The Queen was out on the battlefield once again. “This is madness,” he choked out. “How can you truly believe I deserve your forgiveness?”

“Because I understand how it feels to be the person the good guys whisper about. The one they think might snap at any second, turn evil, hurt innocent people, and prove that people don’t change. But people do change. Right from the start I could see that in you, and it gave me so much hope,” you smiled as your eyes became glassy with emotion. “Because if you were a really, at the heart of it, a good person who’d done bad things… maybe I could be a good person too.”

And there, then, you gave him that same look you’d given him the very first time he’d seen you. Your eyes were full of contradictory soft stoicism, flashing with both a familiarity and an undeniable desire to know more. He settled his hand more comfortably on your side, relieving you of the need to hold it, but you still did. He looked at where his touch lay, he looked at the way your fingers draped delicately over and around his wrist and the back of his hand, then he looked up to see your eyes hadn’t left him. Then, he finally got his answer.

That look you’d given him hadn’t been one of indifference or courage. It had been understanding.

“You’ve seen far more of me that most,” you swayed your head to catch his eye where his gaze had been fixed to his hand at your waist, taking a reassuring step closer to him. “You don’t need to be afraid of hurting me. You know I can overcome pain. You’ve hurt me before, and I’m still here.”

Loki choked an incredulous breath as he brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, bringing it behind your ear as he laced his fingers through your hair. “Gods, you beautiful, precious thing.” He let your affection wash over him like a wave of relief. Here came the Queen charging down the battlefield, and he’d gladly relinquish his throne.

His hand at your waist slipped around to the small of your back, but you stepped even closer to him before he had the chance to pull you in, and you lifted your head to meet him halfway. He leaned down, and then kissed you with the fire of every shred of forgiveness he could bear to afford himself.

Your arms wrapped around his waist as you pulled yourself closer, deepening the kiss as much as you could without making it uncomfortable for either of you. He could feel your craving desire in how the fabric of his dress shirt became bunched between your fingers and you used anything you could to press into him, forgoing your need for air to kiss him as long as you could stand it. Fearing for you consciousness, he pulled away to force you to breathe, a loving smile pulling at his lips as he saw you pant and sway and look up at him with a sheepishness he hadn’t seen you wear before. “Careful,” he warned, allowing a sliver of his playfulness to return.

You nodded and gulped more air, pulling again at the collar of your dress as you flushed under your desire and the heat of the fabric.

Loki moved to run his hands over your arms. “Please, allow me to rid you of this discomfort,” he looked on earnestly and saw you consider the offer, then nod. Wordlessly, he slid his hands up to your shoulders and, with a flash of golden green, the top-half of your dress transformed under his magical guidance. The high collar dropped to an almost-modest straight neckline that continued all the way around, supported by a thin strap over each shoulder. You visibly relaxed in relief as the cool night air surrounded your skin, and once again pressed upwards into his hands. Just as he had experienced that night in the cabin, Loki found himself completely unwilling to take his hands away from your reassuring nestle.

“Loki.”

A familiar voice from the doorway turned your heads, interrupting your moment of closeness. A quick glance at your eyes nearly made Loki laugh, seeing how annoyed you looked at his brother for interrupting.

Thor informed them there was a speech about to begin, and neither of you should be missing it. A knowing glint in his eye brought a half-smirk to Loki’s lips, then his brother re-entered the party.

“I suppose we-”

You cut him off with another kiss, pulling him down by the lapel of his tuxedo, crashing his lips to yours. His hands found your waist, one of them trailing up your back until his palm lay flat against the uneven bare skin. Then, you pulled away, again a little breathless. “Just making sure that first kiss wasn’t a goodbye.”

The solemn look in your eye and the way your brow furrowed with your declaration brought a smile to his cheeks. “It was certainly not goodbye.”

He removed one hand from your back, using the other to gently guide you back towards the party, relishing in the way you seemed fidgety. Not nervous, but excited, shying closer to him from the anticipation of sharing your next kiss.

When you two settled into a place to stand near the back of the room, his hand moved again, his forearm rest against your lower back as his hand rested on your hip. Pressing into him as much as you elegantly could, Loki had to resist the urge to wrap both arms around you and distract you while Pepper gave her speech. He held you close, every so often giving a gentle and reassuring squeeze of his hand against your hip. You’d always press a little more into him when he did, probably to reassure him as well, or maybe because you were afraid he’d slip away again.

But he would not. You knew who he was, you knew what he’d done, and you were still here. So he would be too.

So when the speech was done and the applause had resounded and the band slowed its music down to a slow and beautiful melody, Loki turned to you and watched as you observed the couples pouring onto the dance floor.

“Do you know how to dance?”

“Of course.”

Without asking further, he began leading you towards the floor. You looked up at him, perplexed, your eyes asking him why you two were wasting time on the dance floor when you’d just had to keep from jumping each other for the past fifteen minutes. He breathed out as he settled you two into the outskirts of the dance floor, placed a hand on your lower back, and took your hand in his.

An uncharacteristically shy smile found its way to your lips, reminding Loki that touch like this was unusual to you. So he pulled you a little closer and led you in a slow waltz. You didn’t put a foot out of place, but you seemed far less interested in the dancing than you were in feeling close to him. The music slowed again, and you pressed your body further against his.

“Careful,” Loki warned, breath hitching in his throat. “Making moves like that. You’ve no idea what it does to me.” You blushed again, bringing pure delight to Loki. He made it obvious that he was scanning your features for any feeling you were trying to hide, and then he pulled you closer so you couldn’t see his smirk, but you could certainly feel it against your ear. “Or, perhaps you do know what it does to me.”

You chuckled, stepping in time with the slow music, squeezing his hand once. “I’m not trying to seduce you.”

He braved a good-natured jab. “Not again, you mean.” He pulled away and led you to turn outwards, which you did with an unmatched grace. Your controlled collision back against his chest brought another blush to your cheeks. A blush Loki was certain you were cursing yourself for not being able to hide.

You cocked your head and put on a brave and playful glare. “I’ll leave it to you next time.”

“Hmm, that’ll be quite the mission,” his whispered low and led you two steps forward, then around with him in a slow gentle spin.

“I’m sure you have your ways.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you’ll take great pleasure in making me work for it.”

“Can’t make it easy for you, can I?” You tilted your chin further up towards him, looking back and forth between his eyes glittering with warm lights strung along the ceiling. “Not after you took me to a nice dinner, tickled me senseless and then let me go to bed alone. Rather rude… for a Prince.”

“Mmm. A Prince, I am,” he smirked back, sliding his arm further around your back to be gripped on your opposite hip. “Riches, palaces, armies, land, anything you desire. How might I make it up to you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He narrowed his eyes and saw the beginnings of a coy smile crease at the sides of your lips. “You’ve already got something in mind,” he tilted his head to the side, then down in a playfully warning glare. “What are you trying to get from me, little spy?”

“Intel. Some… sensitive information.”

Loki chuckled, licked his lips and stood to his full height, letting himself laugh at the audacity of what he knew you’d be asking him. “That’s what you want?”

Slipping your hand out of his, then looping both around his neck, you shrugged and gave him a cheeky smile. “I’m new to this whole romance thing, and the only thing I know for sure is you said knowing someone’s most ticklish spot was pure romance.”

“So is dancing like this,” he chuckled again and lifted his head so he’d be looking down on you in a way meant to be a little intimidating, just so you’d understand who you were asking this of.

“This party is nice, but I’d much rather be back in Switzerland.”

“For which part?” Loki quirked his brow. “Having knives thrown at you, the wading through snow, the freezing next to the fire? Perhaps the god, crippled by self-loathing, who foolishly let you go to bed alone.” He nearly chuckled. “Pray tell, what about Switzerland do you miss?”

“Being with you,” you answered honestly, casually. “Just you.”

“If you’re not enjoying yourself,” Loki lowered his voice to a gravelly rumble beside your ear. “Might I take you home?”

Loki would’ve used the car ride back to the Compound to run you through the ground rules of knowing such sensitive information about another person, if he’d been able to keep his lips off yours for even a second.

Thank the gods for backseat partitions.

By the time you two stumbled out of the car, breathless and kiss-delirious, he’d completely rid himself of any desire to set any sort of ground rules. Perhaps it was because he knew, when it came down to it, your strength was no match for his and he could easily turn the tables and teach you a lesson if you got too cocky. Or, maybe, it was because the mere thought of missing a potential second of your hands on him was unbearable. He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was as long as you kept looking at him like that, he’d tell you anything you wanted to know.

The empty Compound echoed with the clicking of your heels, the stumbling of his shoes, the slamming of your bodies into walls to steal another moment on your way, then the laugh of delight as Loki swept you off your feet and declared he was done wasting time in the cold and unforgiving hallways. When you tried to pull him off course, to comment that a particular doorway would be a detour on your way to his room, he responded with a playful growl and a slip of his fingers up under your arm to dig into your upper ribs. Then, the empty Compound resounded with your melodic laughter for the rest of the journey to Loki’s room.

“My tuhurn!” You laughed as he slammed the door with his heel, pausing his tickling fingers to duck down and captured your giggling protesting lips in another fiery kiss. After several seconds you broke away, shaking your head. “You’re not getting out of this.”

“Darling…” he kissed your cheek sweetly before smirking, “I’d never dream of it.” He pulled away and you looked up at him, squinting a bit as your jaw slackened.

“God of Lies, you finally lied to me,” you smirked before you broke into a grin, then let out a yelp of surprise as Loki spun and fell down backwards onto the bed with you still in his arms. He pulled you in for several more long and fervid kisses, trailing his lips along your jaw and down your neck until he hit a sensitive spot, making you giggle and instinctively push him away.

He caught you before you could go too far. “Are you sensitive here, my little spy?” he chuckled, pulling you close and grazing his teasing lips over the spot to watch you shiver and giggle. “My… aren’t you just the most delightfully ticklish thing.”

“Okahay, enough!” You pushed yourself away with a final giggle before settling yourself atop him, hiking your dress above your knees to straddle his waist. “Tell me.”

“I’ve honestly no idea how I’ll keep myself from throwing you off into a wall,” Loki admitted with a resigned grimace, then removed his hands from where they sat at your legs. He laced his fingers together and used them to cradle his head, but more to keep them out of your way.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you smirked, then raised an eyebrow to ask that same question.

“There you are,” Loki muttered, motioning with his eyes to the space under his arms he’d exposed for you to attack. You gave him an unimpressed look.

“You have a tux on. Take the jacket off at least,” you crossed your arms and huffed, quite adorably, so Loki smirked and obliged. In a brilliant flash of magic, he’d changed himself from his black tuxedo into a long-sleeved black shirt and matching pants. To tease, though, he added a large chainmail vest. “Loki!” You swatted at him and he laughed, the allowed the chainmail to disappear.

“I should warn you,” Loki felt his stomach tense as you brought your fingers closer to his torso. “This opportunity will not present itself again.” You shrugged, nodded and smiled wider as you watched him tense further, instinctively shying away from your approaching fingers. “AND- and,” Loki chuckled nervously, eyeing your fingertips mere inches from his ribs. “We’re fihinding yours after this,” he declared.

You smirked in response. “Stop trying to make me go easy on you. It won’t work.”

Loki scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “You cheeky little-mmm,” he was cut off by your fingers touching down at his ribs, when he sealed his lips to try holding in his reaction. Unfortunately for him you appeared to be a quick leaner, very effectively sending ticklish shocks in the wake of your fingers.

“Oh, not so tough now, are you?”

“Wahatch your tongue,” Loki growled, some laughter slipping through his lips. You cocked a grin and brought your hands higher, prodding at his uppermost ribs, wriggling your fingers into the divots of his bones. “Gehet on with it!” Loki coughed a laugh and glared through his tensed jaw. You grinned wider and descended your fingers against the thin fabric covering his armpits, scratching and clawing your fingers firmly against the vulnerable area.

The Prince of Asgard shut his eyes and burst into a deep, bright ticklish laughter as you alternated between the firm fluttering and devious digging at the the susceptible spot. You were quick and agile, ensuring to make good use of the limited time you’d have. Just as he thought he may lose control and throw you off, Loki’s laughter-laden lips were semi-captured with your own as you kissed him through your grin and his laugh, not letting up on your attack.

Unable to stand leaving his arms behind his head, he whipped them down and took your face in his hands to kiss you as hard as he could while still laughing. He’d trapped your hands under his arms when he’d sealed off the space, and you were still going at it while giggling and you two were failing to kiss each other properly. And as if you couldn’t get any more precious, you pulled your hands away before it became too much for him, and planted your elbows either side of his head, hovering your face over his to kiss him properly.

Loki’s hands ran firmly over your sides, hips, legs, back, neck, everything he could touch and pull you closer by as he kissed you with a fiery passion. “My love,” he panted, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “I hope you understand your mercy has no effect on mine,” he lowered his voice to a teasing growl and watched the breath catch in your throat. “We’re going to have so much fun figuring this out together.”

And so Loki set out on your shared mission, ignoring the protests he knew you didn’t mean, using his mischievous fingers to seek out your most sensitive spots. He relished in the way you melted into his touch, let yourself laugh without a care in the world, not at all attempting to conceal how he was setting your nerves alight. Every so often he’d pause his torment to allow you to catch your breath, only to steal it again with a deep, consuming kiss. Most times he did, you managed to distract him long enough to test another spot of his and finding, to your delight, his hips were nearly as ticklish as yours.

He made sure you picked your moments carefully, never above the threat to use his magic to fix you to the bed and turn you into a begging, ticklish mess. “Perhaps another time,” you’d winked before kissing him once more. Loki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at your agreement, but he filed the permission away to use at a later date if you ever became far too cheeky with him.

Knowing you, intimately acquainted with your battle history, Loki couldn’t blame you for how much you enjoyed the playful game. Especially not after your admission in the cabin - that him tickling you had been the most care anyone’d ever had when physically engaging with you. He’d thought about that a lot, and wondered if you’d still be as keen for this playful game after you learned all the gentle ways he could hold you.

So after you two discovered that you were definitely most ticklish just above your knee, on the sensitive skin of your leg, he relented on his fact-finding tour and wiped a happy tear from your temple before falling beside you and pulling you in close to his him, smiling at how your cheek rested so perfectly on the space where his shoulder met his chest.

He teased you for your dramatic silent-laughter reaction, for how hard you thrashed when he’d dusted his fingers across the skin. How you’d finally begun begging after he’d laid himself across your hips, facing your feet, pinned your knee to the mattress and traced quick fluttering circles all over the soft skin of your inner lower thigh. How you squealed in breathless laughter and helplessly grabbed at his shirt when he trailed five fingers in a blossoming motion, opening and closing, maddeningly lightly against the inside skin of your quivering leg. Loki promised you he’d only use it if you absolutely deserved it.

Then, he silently promised himself, even if it meant you became less keen for this playful game, he’d teach you the kindness of touch.

He didn’t see you as fragile. No. That much was clear. But you’d asked him to teach you things, and you were a quick learner. So as you laid on his chest, he ran his fingers through your hair and tightened an arm around your waist to pull you as close as you could comfortably be. There was a stammering hesitance in the way you’d respond, this affection being so new to you, but you seemed desperate to respond in a way that let Loki know you were happy, here, with him. Still here, with him.

He kissed you, sweetly, on your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids just to make you giggle and then let out a content sigh and ran a soothing hand over your back. Somewhere in the scuffle you’d asked him to conjure you a tank top and shorts; the fine silk was of the gown getting in the way and had tangled around one of your legs. Through the fabric of the clothes he’d placed on you, he felt the tumultuous surface of your skin as it rose and fell with the chronology of your pain.

He knew there’d be more bullet wounds, more gashes from daggers and scimitars, more burns and grazes. But next time it would be different, because he would be there.

You were tenacious, a firecracker, unwilling to sit still or stay on the sidelines. Unwilling to leave so many women out in the world under control of the worst man to walk Midgard. But not one more scar would mar this body, he promised himself. As long as he was there, you’d have no more permanent memories of your hurting. Only of a kind touch. Only of a tender kiss, a wildly ticklish spot, his fingers through your hair as he worked the tension away with every caress.

He couldn’t change time, and he couldn’t change you. In fact, he did not want to change you. But perhaps he could not only teach you the kindness of touch, but, over time, he could teach you arts and languages and that you were so much more worthy of the life you’d been made to live.

And perhaps, over time, he would learn some things too. Such as the depths of you knowing him, the depths of your affections for him. He held you close and breathed you in, still in awe that those two things could go hand-in-hand. It’d always seemed impossible.

Yet, here you were, looking at him like that.

Steve seemed to catch his discomfort, and he smiled understandingly. "You can move, she won't wake up."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki kept his voice low but Steve shrugged and talked in his normal volume.

"She's dead to the world once she falls asleep. It's nearly impossible to wake her."

As a test, Loki lifted your head with his hand and pushed it to lean against the divider on the other side of you. He heard Steve chuckle before turning back to his notes and snapped up to see him smirking down at his tablet.

Loki couldn't help feeling a little guilty for the way he pushed you off of him, almost like you were a filth he didn't want rest on his shoulder. You weren't, at all. He just didn't know if you'd have rested your head on his shoulder willingly, and it felt presumptuous to let you continue.

The second time you fell asleep on Loki, he started doubting his instincts; he knew you’d done it on purpose, but he so deeply doubted that he deserved the trust you gave him.

You two had grown closer over the weeks, finding an comforting companion in each other, finding a desire for closeness that was somewhat unusual to you both. Loki, because of the depth of feeling. You, because of trusting someone to be so close in proximity.

Most people were hanging out in the living room late one evening, and you’d made a point to sit down right next to him even though there were many seats available. Your willingness to be unashamedly close to him was one of the reasons he started feeling a bit more okay with being a bit more social with the Avengers. He’d been helping out on a few missions since he’d defected to the Midgardian vigilante crew, grateful for their protection from his former alien allies, but had yet to find his place outside the battlefield or their war room (which he found, with its whiteboards and projectors, to be much more dull that the gold-plated tabled maps in the war rooms of Asgard).

But you were fine, happy even, being close to him. You’d been tired that day, yawning noticeably and even caught out Loki by spreading your yawn to him, proving he’d been looking at you to catch its contagiousness. Then your eyes started slowly closing over the course of several minutes, and you didn’t fight particularly hard to keep them open. Before you feel into sleep completely, you shifted your seat a bit further away and then lay down, finding his lap to be a pillow and almost immediately falling asleep.

Eyes raised around the room as Loki’s hand so naturally rested on the forearm of your hand that was wedged beneath your cheek. No one said anything, but Loki knew they all noticed and they’d certainly talk later.

This meant the world to him, knowing you’d done this on purpose. Knowing it was a conscious choice to say this person can be close to me in front of a room full of people who perhaps still somewhat mistrusted the only person you’d ever willingly engaged with physically. They trusted your judgement, they knew you were a good agent, and you trusted this former villain.

The third time you fell asleep on Loki, it was the day after you’d almost shared your first kiss.

It had been late at night, you two had been alone in the living room trading stories and ideas, trading deep looks. You’d give a faint blush and he’d give a wry smile. You’d, in some subtle way, assure him that he was someone you desired to have close and he, in a not-so-subtle way, would return the sentiment.

When the time finally came to retire to your separate rooms you both found yourselves unwilling to answer the call of midnight, hopelessly wishing for the other to stay where they were. Here, together.

But you both stood, and you hugged him. You breathed him in and relaxed against his chest, murmuring a hope for him to have sweet dreams. He hugged you back, thank goodness, and you fit perfectly beneath his arms. When you pulled away you told yourself to not look up at him, for fear you’d be subliminally pressuring him to kiss you if he wasn’t ready, or if he didn’t do that kind of thing with humans.

Though he cupped your cheeks, tilted your head up and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. Your cheeks burned beneath his fingers, and he teased you for your second goodnight, which then came out in stammered speech. You grinned and rolled your eyes at the teasing, telling him you’d see him the next day.

So there, the next evening, Loki sat reclined on the couch late at night as you entered the living room.

“Hey,” you greeted.

”Evening,” he looked up from his book and smiled softly. You leant your elbows on the back of the couch and nodded to the book that was missing its title cover. “Othello,” he answered your wordless question.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked, resting your chin in your hand.

“Please,” he nodded, then furrowed his brow. “I didn’t see you bring a book.”

With a shy but mischievous smile, you brought your legs over the back of the couch and let yourself fall and settle in the small space between Loki and the back of the couch. Loki laughed at your forwardness, but he wasn’t quite surprised considering the evening before.

You ducked your head under his left arm and folded your right hand underneath yourself, letting your right cheek and left hand rest on his chest. Barely above a whisper, you declared: “I’ll share yours.”

He chuckled and held his book in his right hand, letting his left hand rest at your waist. Your top had no sleeves, and he noticed you had goosebumps from the coolness of night, so he held you a little tighter.

Loki did not bother to ask if you were ready for him to turn the pages, when he would turn them with wordless magic, knowing you did not intend to read a single page. You’d be asleep soon. Not ten minutes later, your body had relaxed so completely and your breathing so deep that he knew you’d fallen into a deep peaceful slumber.

He smiled softly, then returned his attention to the pages. Half an hour later, he grew tired of the play and turned his attention to you, placing the book down on the ground next to the couch.

Loki caught even himself off guard at the small grin that spread into his cheeks as you, in your sleep, snuggled further into him. He ran his hand lightly from where it had been resting on your ribs and down to your side, delighted to see that it made you let out the smallest giggle he’d ever heard.

”Ticklish, darling?” He whispered, but you didn’t reply. Perhaps you were embarrassed, or flustered, or nervous that he was about to attack. However, with a more discerning look into your face, Loki chuckled to see that you were actually still asleep. Testing the waters, he ghosted his fingers ever so lightly from your side to the middle of your belly. You let out a little giggle again, but sighed deeply and relaxed against him, still under sleep’s spell.

Loki grinned, and nearly laughed at how adorable this was. The lightest touch tickled you, you must be sensitive, but it was not enough to wake you. Deathly curious to see how much your sleep could resist, he smirked and settled his fingers back at your side.

He trailed his fingers in slow circles as you shifted a little, a sleepy smile pulling at your cheeks as a small giggle bubbled through your lips. When your hand instinctively hid your eyes, Loki was convinced he’d never seen something more endearing. He bit his lip and continued, though this time trailing up the length of your arm with light tapping fingers, settling at your neck where he drew more light patterns.

This time, your giggle was louder, and so was your breath. He backed off for a second, allowing you to settle back into your sleep. He wondered if this was affecting your dreams, if your mind was conjuring images to match the ticklish feeling.

He let his fingers flow along your shoulder blades and down to the back of your ribs. You giggled again, so he started scratching ever so softly. Another giggle, another swipe of his fingers, another grin gracing his lips, another crooked smile on yours.

Loki’s fingers traced down, through the divots of your ribs, and settled on the side of your stomach. He shifted the arm around you to lightly grasp the wrist that was at your face, not wanting it to get in the way should you wake. He watched your now-relaxed lips and the small sliver of a peek he had at your eyes, and flitted his fingers gently along the thin fabric of your shirt.

You smiled and nuzzled into his chest, body squirming a little. He stayed at the same spot, adding just a little more pressure to his fingers and bringing them closer to the centre of your belly. You were actually giggling now, and Loki had no idea how in the Nine Realms you were still asleep.

“Wake up and stop me, little creature,” he whispered teasingly, hoping by some miracle your last dreams would be of him, his voice. He knew mortals only remembered the dreams they woke up in the middle of, and he’d like to be remembered.

His fingers ghosted again, now at the centre just above your belly button, and you finally stirred. Giggling hard as one eye opened, he felt you pull on your wrist only to find it was stuck in his hold.

“W-whahat?” You giggled in a groggy voice, confused and delirious from being woken from your deep sleep. “Lohoki, why are- HEY!” You squeaked as he grinned and added proper tickling pressure, clawing his fingers at the sensitive skin. Your giggles turned to laughter as you tried in vain to free one of your arms to fight him off to no avail; the one that wasn’t in his hold was still stuck underneath you.

“Ah, look who’s finally awake,” Loki taunted.

”I trusted youhou!” You pouted through giggles, squeaking again as he stuck a finger into your belly button through your shirt. You flinched and squirmed a little harder as he chuckled, wiggling his finger tauntingly into the little space. Then, Loki, not wanting to turn this into a full-on brawl, lightened his touch again - it seemed very effective anyway.

“Your sleep is a strong force,” Loki mused, softy spidering his fingers up to your lower ribs. You laughed helplessly and squealed a little as you buried your face into his chest, completely unable to help yourself in such a state. “You withstood this for nearly several minutes,” Loki smirked and pulled at your wrist, prying it from your ribs.

“Wait, wait!” You giggled nervously as he pulled the wrist over your head. You were trapped so precariously, stuck on your side with one arm underneath you, wedged between Loki’s body and the back of the couch. Now with your arm held above your head, he had complete access to exploit the entirely of the left side of your body. “W-wait, Loki, wahait,” you looked in his eyes, seeing how they sparkled with mischief, and had to playfully glare.

His touch made you giggle and squirm, but it was gentle, and it was kind. Truth be told, it was nice to see Loki finally so comfortable being close to someone. He grinned at you and raised an eyebrow before dragging a single finger through a gap between two of your ribs. “Lokihihi,” you giggled, burying your burning cheeks into his shoulder.

“This is most wonderful,” he commented softly, adding three more fingers to three more gaps, swiping them back and forth as you giggled and wriggled against him. “Your body must enjoy it, if it did not wake you,” he commented matter-of-factly.

“Youhou cannot sp-speaHEAK for my body,” you squeaked a little when he hit a particularly sensitive area. He chuckled and lightened his touch, trailing a little higher, scratching a bit more at the back of your ribs as he did so. This made you giggle hard, squirm harder, and shut your eyes. You knew where his fingers were heading, and you bit your lip as you thought of how pleased he’d be to find such a sensitive spot.

“The higher I go, the more tense you become,“ Loki taunted into your ear. You squeaked from the comment and tried to relax your body, nuzzling into him further so he wouldn’t see how red your face was. “Dear girl, I hope you know it’s not lost on me that you’ve submitted to my touch,” he whispered, the proximity to your ear made you shiver. His fingers traced around the back of your underarm, carefully avoiding the more sensitive skin underneath.

“I-I’m stuck,” you pointed out. “You’re too strong,” you also pointed out. Then you finally looked up to see his amused grin. “There’s not much I can do but submit.“

“Submitting such sensitive skin to the God of Mischief?” Loki asked with fake shock, “Anyone else would call you mad.”

You blushed a bit more and smile, looking at him sincerely. “I trust you, Loki. I feel safe with you.”

Your words pulled on his heart; even now, as he had you entirely at his mercy, you felt safe with him.

Safe enough to allow him his little bit of fun, to undo you a little bit, to have some power over you. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, but he couldn’t stand the thought of doing so while you were incapacitated. So, he stowed away the thought for a not-so-distant future, and let his smile turn mischievous.

“Foolish girl,” he growled playfully, but you could see the fondness in his eyes. You tensed and bit back giggles as his feather-light touch made it’s way under your arm. After a mere few seconds, giggles be damned, you were laughing and squealing at his light touch. Loki laughed along with you as you squirmed against him, but, noticeably, not once asked him to stop. “You’re so charmingly ticklish,” he mused with a grin, wonderstruck by how sensitive the object of his affection could be.

He allowed his fingers to pick up pace, but keep their agonisingly light pressure, and he relished in the belly-laughter he was able to pull from you with the faintest touch. What a gorgeous power to have, what an incredible smile you had, how wonderful you were to no longer hide the smile against him. You were astounding, and you trusted him, so he made sure to not take it too far. He let his fingers take one final trail down your side, settling with a non-tickling touch at your waist before releasing your pinned hand from his grip.

The residual giggles left your lips as you dabbed at your eyes that were beginning to fill with joyful tears. “You’re a menace,” you mumbled and rested your head against his shoulder again. “I was having a great sleep until you had to ruin it with your mischief.”

“I can’t help it,” Loki argued. “It’s in my nature.”

“Hmm, and revenge is in mine,” you grinned, closing your eyes again. “Not right now though. I’ll get you when you least expect it.”

Loki scoffed, but more laughed. “Alright, darling. Let us see how that works out for you.”

You bit your lip and blushed, then opened your eyes. You brought your now-freed hand up to trace tiny shapes against the skin above his collar. He smiled softly, but didn’t flinch at the touch as your fingers ran up his neck to trace his smooth jawline. He kept smiling, letting his own eyes close against the softness of your fingers, against the care and admiration with which you admired his features.

“Strange creature, what ever are you up to?” He chuckled as your finger ran down his nose, over his lips and under his chin. You grinned and brought your finger back up to his mouth, tracing along his lower lip, then finding the creases of his smile.

The full weight of the intimacy of the moment finally hit you, and you sheepishly retracted your hand. Loki felt your heart pound a little harder, as did his own, and brought his hand up to caress your cheek, swiping his thumb along the soft skin above your jawline. Then, his thumb found your lips, ghosting along as your breath hitched in your throat. He made it clear with his touch that this was more than a physical moment, more than a skin-deep desire.

With a shift of your shoulder you communicated your intent to meet him face-to-face. So he turned, fingers sliding down your jaw until his palm cupped your cheeks and his finger were in your hair. He, then, ducked his head down and captured your lips with his own.

Kissing Loki was like honey; rich, sweet, indulgent, the smallest hint would linger for several moments.

But you didn’t only receive a small hint, because he pulled you on top of him, desiring to share the power of the evening. To show you that you were not a foolish girl to trust him, in case you hadn’t heard the playfulness in his voice just before.

You blushed at your sudden position, and he grinned at your sudden wide-eyed demeanour. He lifted his shoulders from the couch and kissed you again, smiling lips against smiling lips. You both laughed a little, maybe from shock at the connection, maybe from the relief of a long-standing mutual attraction being finally realised.

”I shouldn’t be rewarding you for your torture,” you muttered teasingly, kissing at the corner of his smirking mouth.

“Mmph,” Loki scoffed, swiftly ducking to kiss below your jaw. “Quite right, darling. Now I know this is what it gets me.”

You laughed. His ears sang with the melodic noise as he caressed your cheek once more and held it there to stare into your eyes. You grinned under his adoring gaze, blushing once again and tapping at his chest. “You didn’t need to pry this from me,” you said in a low voice. “You could have just kissed me.”

Loki shrugged and smiled cheekily, “But this was much more fun.” You rolled your eyes and he brought a gentle hold to your chin, looking at you quizzically. “What did you dream of?”

“I don’t remember,” you answered honestly.

“Ah,” Loki sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. “I thought I might have broken in there.”

You grinned at his defeat, bashful that he so desperately wanted to rule your thoughts, so unaware that he already did. Instead of telling him that, you showed him. Your fingers laced through the hair at the nape of his neck and you were delighted to see his eyes go a little hazy, looking as delirious as you felt. In an instant, you were kissing him again.