Tom Hiddleston and Loki Imagines - Bk. 1

Loki - Do You Understand? - Pt. 2

4 months later....

You knock gently onto the bedroom door. You could hear light shuffling from inside, his slow and steady steps inching towards the gold and brass. You take a deep breath, not knowing how you should brace yourself, for better or worse.

Tonight was important. A fancy ball, all the nobility and best warriors of Asgard were attending. You knew Loki always made sure to arrive to these things, either early to greet in all his glory or arriving fashionably late, but his disappearance was pushing it. He might not have treated you like a lady at first, but it was still your job to treat him like a man. Both of you were living beings.

The door slowed open, and you quietly gasp. His eyes were so red you almost mistook him for his Jotun form. His skin was cold like ice, his tears frozen on his cheeks.

"Please, go away," he whispers sternly but kindly, as if defeated. You shook your head, opening the door a little more so you can squeeze your way inside. He steps from you and walks further into the room as you close the door behind you.

"I hope you know that you're scaring your mother," you obliviously remark freely. He turns to you, and, realizing your mistake, you prepare yourself for a slap, a kick, some measure of pain, but it never comes.

"I know." You sigh, relieved and confused. As he sits down on his bed, you silence yourself from asking the question that should never be asked of him. He looks to you and pats the place beside him. You obey.

"Do I frighten you?" Your throat instantly runs dry, not expecting this from the prince.

Define frighten.

"I'm not sure I understand what this is all about." He sighs.

"So you are afraid."

"I never said that."

"Yes you did. Your non-answer was an answer." He lifts his hand, and you close your eyes, expecting it to connect with your face, a singing pain to overwhelm your cheeks like he has done many times before. But his fingers dance along your jawbone, the backs of his hand caressing your hair as the coolness of metal sets along the base of your neck. You look down, and a gold locket rests upon you.

"I'm sorry, my ást."

"What does this...what does that mean?" He shakes his head and draws his face to yours, gently placing his lips against yours. It takes you by surprise, all his other kisses forceful and hungry. But this one—the was the one you had hoped, once upon a time, to share with your best friend. This was the one you dreamed your wedding kiss would be like, pure bliss in a refreshing touch.

He breaks the kiss a moment later, his forehead nudging against yours. You look up at him, and his eyes are closed. After a minute of silence, he pecks your forehead.

"We will not be attending that gathering," he says. "You may retire to your chambers."

Your eyes widen slightly. For four months straight, ever since you were under his care, you had always spent the night with him, just as he said you would: willingly or not. The handmaiden's chambers were down the hall, but he always wanted you inside his room with him, even if it wasn't for his pleasure. You were like a security blanket, always used, always expected from, but never given a moment of rest.

But even though you wanted a break, you wanted to protect. It was your duty, what made you so important. You hold your hands against his cheeks, and after a moment, he holds them against his skin.