Pushing Buttons

Liar, Liar

"Hey, Pretty Boy."

The nickname left him more flustered than he cared to admit, and the fingers that squeezed his shoulder sent a subtle electric jolt through him. His own reaction annoyed him, but that smile! That damned smile.

It somehow made his blood boil and his heart beat faster at the same time. Regardless of how...flirtatious their banter had turned, she was still the enemy. He had to remind himself of that. And while not as much of a physical threat as Loki, she was still a spy. Heimdall refused to think otherwise.

Every encounter since their...training session several days ago, had him on edge even more than usual. His hardened gaze turned towards her, but despite the glare that would send even the most brave Aesir running, her sweet and cheerful smile remained.

She didn't even bother to ask anymore as she sat beside him, finger poking at a plate of untouched goat cheese. "What's with all the brooding lately?"

He sighed, looking down at what was left in his pint, "Is it really any of your business?"

She hummed. "You're not still mad about our little scuffle, are you?"

His face must've said it all, as her expression turned from playful to confused. "It upset you that much? Don't tell me you've never been knocked down into the dirt before?"

Knocked over, hit, touched without him allowing for it to happen...Heimdall could count the times he had been caught off guard on one hand. And all of them involved her.

Realization seemed to dawn on her face, but he was already standing up and abandoning the conversation before she could say anything else. He had work to do.

From running errands for the All-Father, to his duties of guarding Asgard's wall, to babysitting a manipulative and chaotic half-breed, Heimdall scarcely had any time for anything else. But she seemed to keep busy regardless, and played the part of an innocent and curious mind almost perfectly.

He wouldn't let his guard down, he told himself. No matter how much her smile made his insides twist, how those fiery eyes made his heart lodge in his throat, or how those hips drew his eyes every time she passed...he would remain focussed and more vigilant than ever. He would not let some girl—a mortal no less—distract him.

"Seven."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

He wasn't surprised to hear her in the Great Hall, but to hear his drunken half-wit of a brother was certainly a surprise. He figured the brute to either be piss poor drunk or beating the living daylights out of someone at this hour.

It was almost a comical sight, watching her of all people scrutinizing the God of Thunder, who could easily snap her like a toothpick if the wrong thing slid from those pretty lips.

The hulking brute lifted the cup, peeking at the contents underneath. A curse swept under his breath, and he tossed another penningar onto the growing pile.

"Only two lives left," She reminded him.

"I know." He grunted, placing his hand over the open end of the cup and shaking it. The rattling of dice filled the empty hall, accompanied only by the occasional laugh or disgruntled sneer from either parties. Thor peeked beneath the cup, nodding to himself before sliding it back to her. "Eleven."

Her lips twitched into a small smile, "It's funny, never in a million years did I ever think I'd wind up in Asgard, much less playing a game of Meier with the God of Thunder in the Great Lodge. And winning."