Loki lost himself, after months of being either invisible or maligned and generally treated with contempt by all in Asgard, he yearned for something, someone to connect with. Someone who was unaware of his past, someone with their own story, their own ghosts, their own extraordinary existence.
He hesitated, brought back to the present by her soft cry. He was aware of the hunger behind it and all too aware of the reaction it elicited in his own body. He pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes.
“Sigyn……”
Sigyn sighed softly as their mouths parted, and her eyes slipped back open to meet his. “Yes, my lord?” she whispered, a slight smile in her eyes. “If that was you trying to persuade me to allow you the couch, my answer has not changed.”
Her grip on his shirt didn’t loosen, either.
He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, hugged her close and spun them both over to the couch in question. He sat down and pulled her down next to him. His eyes danced.
“I could make it a royal decree, you know. I *am* a prince and I am used to having my way.”
The speed of Loki’s movements left her laughingly breathless. “Perhaps Alfheim doesn’t recognise Asgard’s rulership,” she teased back, a little astounded at her own temerity. No one in the universe had ever driven off the nightmare fear so swiftly and simply.
Neither had anyone ever kissed her like that before, or wanted to. Feeling bold, she added, “What way did my lord have in mind?”
Oh, he liked this banter. No one had dared speak to him so audaciously with such playfulness before. He smiled with fascination.
He answered her with another passionate kiss traveling slowly from her lips along her jaw to her earlobe where he gave her an impish nip.
“Ooooh,” she shuddered. Trying not to fall over, she put her arms around his neck. Another tingle crawled down her spine. “Oh, my lord, are you trying to persuade me?” Sigyn asked, finding breathing to come harder.