Get On Your Knees and Pray To Me

Let's Play A Game, Shall We?

"Do you want to play a game, kitten?"

When Loki posed the question, you looked up startled. He was seated on the couch, his legs spread wide enough to take up more than half of the space on the piece of furniture. His arms were slung over the back of the couch, displaying the perfect posture of power and confidence. You were kneeling in front of him, having just cleaned up some of the art supplies you were messing around with that morning. Loki watched you take in your position, realization heating up your cheeks.

You were so perfect.

It had been a few days since Loki figured the flares out. Really, he was intending to keep his focus on answering those last few prayers at night and at times, he did but...it had gotten away from him. Your perfection was his vice. Every time he wanted to focus on something, he would look into your eyes and positively melt. He'd follow you to bed - whether to fuck you, hold you, or fall asleep with you - and his mind would completely stray from the topic at hand.

But it was fine. The flares were small anyway. It wasn't something to worry about. Heimdall had not contacted him, Thor had not warned him, and Odin had not come knocking at your door.

Though, if Loki was being honest, Odin probably wouldn't knock at your door. He would just burst in unannounced and probably destroy the entire building.

And he calls me the hot head, Loki mused.

However, any concern or worry or anxiety that Loki may have felt was completely wiped away by you. Sleeping in your bed with you at night was especially helpful. There was something so calming about slowly falling asleep beside you with your head buried in his neck and his arms locked around you that had Loki feeling completely and utterly sated. He felt well-rested, light, and truly happy.

And most of all, he felt love.

He felt love for you every moment of the day. Just two nights ago, Loki had been in the shower with you. He was washing your hair with smooth, massaging circles of his hands. You had been so relaxed that you tilted your head forward, forcing the shampoo in your hair to run into your eyes. You squealed and jumped around until you stood directly under the shower spray to get the shampoo out of your eyes. When you turned around, your eyes were red, swollen, and full of tears. You began laughing as you pointed at yourself.

"I must look high," you had giggled, then paused. "Hey, have you ever been high before?"

"Yes," Loki had mumbled, pulling you out from the spray to properly clean your eyes.

"Can you tell me about it?" you had asked, batting your eyelashes - though Loki was unsure whether that was to aid with ridding yourself of the shampoo or as an attempt to persuade him to tell you. With the way his heart skipped a beat, it was working.

But Loki stood his ground and uttered a quiet, "no."

"Please?" you asked, stretching up onto your toes. Instead of answering you, Loki had cupped your face and kissed you, the warm water droplets of the shower sliding between your lips. You melted against him, your hands locked in his wet hair, and when you finally pulled away, your pupils were blown wide. You licked your lips and looked up at Loki through your wet eyelashes. "So...will you tell me now?"

For the rest of the night, you pestered Loki about that story. And even with your irritating whimpers and pouting and "but please, Loki" where the "please" and the "Loki" were drawn out far longer than necessary, Loki loved you. He loved the grumpy look on your face, the roll of your eyes, the way you traced your finger along his nude chest to try to convince him to tell you. If anyone else did that, he would sincerely murder them with passion and grace. But with you, he just wanted to kiss you. Love was weird.