Son of Mischief (Loki/Asgard Fanfiction - Selig's Story)

Chapter Thirty-Five

"I can't believe you hit him," Celia murmured, trailing her fingers down the middle of Selig's chest, tracing the New York Giants NY logo on his tee shirt. "And I can't believe how far he flew."

"It's never wise to anger a god," he mused, his fingertips moving lightly over her hair. "And never call him princess."

She lifted her head. "That's what pissed you off?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief as they alit on her. "No, but it didn't help. I owed him that. No one touches you but me."

She sighed. "Caveman."

"Hardly."

She sank back into him. They were in the living room, entwined on the sofa, while the New York Yankees battled the Oakland A's on television. She had no idea what time it was, except that it was after four, since they were playing in Oakland. Not that it mattered. She could happily lay there with him until time drew to a close and not even notice it.

"When did you wish to leave?" he asked softly, his hand going still on her head.

"I don't care, Sel. Whenever you wish."

"As much as I'd like to get home, I rather like the quiet that comes with being here. No one bothers us."

"Palace life gets to you after a while, huh?"

"Ce, you have no idea."

"Actually, I do. I know what responsibility you shoulder, the responsibility you will shoulder one day. I don't envy you that." She lifted her head again, turning to prop her chin on his chest. "And that pressure. It's got to kill you."

"What pressure?"

"To produce an heir."

A slow grin crept across his face. "That's the one pressure I don't mind so much."

"Somehow, I didn't think you would."

He gave her a playful squeeze. "Our kids are going to be the cutest ones Asgard's ever seen, just like I was."

"It's the Midgardian influence, you know."

"My mother says the same thing."

"She's a wise woman." Celia went quiet, just looking at him. His face was interesting. Not just handsome, but interesting. He had a small scar above his right eyebrow, one she was responsible for giving him. When they were eight, he thought it would be funny to try and scare her by suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Not only didn't he anticipate that her first reaction would be to throw a punch, but that she threw a perfect one. It took four stitches to close and she still felt guilty over it.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I can't help it, Sel. You are a god."

"Demigod, remember?"

"Either way." She stretched to brush her fingers over the scar. "I still feel bad about this."

"Don't. It only adds to my rugged good looks." He caught her hand and pulled it away from his face. "But, I've always wondered how it was you knew how to throw a punch?"

"My dad taught me. When I was six."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He thought it might come in handy."

"For fending off the boys?"

"Something like that," she hedged.

His eyes softened and grew serious. "Ce, do you remember how we became friends?"