What Might Have Been

Chapter IX

This one began much more plausibly. 

Up in the higher balconies, where the towers didn’t obscure her view of the sky, Jane drew the stars. Other sheets had mathematical equations on them but Jane set them aside for a brush, some paint and a critical eye for color. She couldn’t get the right shade of umber orange-red and her attempts were creeping up into double digits. Growls of frustration worked their way past her throat dragging along muttered profanities. A rumble of laughter and boot-steps told her she had company.

“Always studying the stars with you, little one.”

“That’s me—constant. I’m a constant in the world laboring to understand its variations in the sky. Bit ironic, don’t you think?”

He was closer now. “How so? I thought stars were constant. In different places at different seasons to be sure, but otherwise they don’t change.” His fingers found a loose lock of hair and pushed it behind her ear. Jane swallowed, trying focus on her drawing. Loki continued. “Perhaps, you are a constant in all the right ways—faithful and dependable, unchangingly so—but I think, given the proper circumstances,” He stroked her lock of brown hair and part of Jane wondered why he was still holding it; the other part knew exactly why. “That you’ll find a deviation from the norm to be a well welcomed release.” 

She stood up ungainly so, flustered red and littering papers every which way, putting a bit of distance between she and her brother. He no longer held her hair. “That’s,” Her brain raced for the words, distracted. “An awfully interesting thing to say. We’ll have to argue over it’s merits another time.” These interactions had to end. They needed to talk things over. Just not now. She spun around to flee and promptly smacked her nose into his chest. To Helheim with his quickness. Loki smirked down at her and her stomach squirmed.

“And what if I were to convince you of its merits here and now?” She really didn’t like that smirk now.

Her eyes darted to everything not him. “Brother, I don’t—“

“Not your brother.” He snapped and Jane flinched as if struck. His demeanor softened a smidgen. “Not tonight.” 

“No, wait, we need to—” Loki was getting dreadfully fond of cutting her off in this particular fashion. His lips were as silky as his voice and Jane knew better than to try and continue talking while Loki kissed her. It was an experience she’d rather not repeat. Clearly Loki disagreed on that subject as Jane felt a rough, wet tongue run across her lips and it was most definitely not hers. It was like he was plucking unseen chords within her, his fingers stroking contours that sent ripple effects throughout the rest of her body. One of his thumbs skirted along her hip and Jane shuddered but kept her mouth firmly closed.

“You’re being stubborn tonight,” he admonished.

“Well you’re—” His tongue darted in and Jane got barely a squeak out before Loki drank in all she might have said. He tasted like snow in a forest and smelled of leather and magic and male. Jane’s uncertain, inexperienced tongue did not seem to matter much to him as Loki tilted her head back, dominating, always dominating, and relished in her taste. The nip of his teeth against her mouth brought her out of the daze with shuddering clarity. Jane pushed him away and Loki grunted, unsatisfied, albeit he relented. 

There was fire and heat chorusing in her blood and a thrill of desire coiling in her stomach. Jane had to swallow hard and shake her head, none of which dispelled the feelings. With Loki gone she felt objectionably cool. Jane banished the thought with another shake of the head. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. You’re my brother and this, this is so wrong. You, you can’t keep, I can’t keep doing this. I’ve got to stop.” His fingers found her chin and brought her eyes to his, those damnably bright green eyes of his.