Cleave | Loki x Reader

• XI •

▪︎ sálufélagar ▪︎

1903, Asgard

Y/n

To start with, the late eighteen hundreds were mostly spent glued at the lips.
A lot of that.
Kissing at seiðr practice; kissing after accidentally tackling him in the pond at seiðr practice. At times kissing was the practice.
You see, Loki had grown particularly fond of demonstrating his mastery over shadows and taken to utilizing them to pull his adversary – me, for that matter – toward him. The reason for a kiss to follow? Well, let's just say that he'd developed a taste for claiming his prize in the form of smooches.
Whenever we managed to steal a break from our respective practice lessons, we'd spend it locked at the lips. Oddly enough, no one seemed to notice much to be amiss. Due to our aligned schedules I spent far more time with Thor, so no one ever questioned the thirty stolen minutes I'd sneak away to meet Loki by the pond and... select my payment.

Perhaps our seiðr was lacking in those times, and maybe the shreds that were left of our lips ached for time rather spent with jinxes than with caresses. But in my head... we had so much to make up for; so much to rectify.
For centuries, I had denied myself the bliss of his embrace, thinking I simply wasn't meant for the kind of normalcy that comes with true affection - that this tiny little thing was somehow the one thing I wasn't fated for.
But Loki gave that to me - that sense of normalcy.
With him, I was but a shield maiden loved, the only thing interesting about her being whatever it was he saw in her. None other opinion held any weight, as long as this ebony-haired, emerald-eyed, silver-tongued princeling wished me to be the one warming his cool chest.

But there were riskier kinds of kisses too. Kissing before parting at night. Kissing in dimly lit halls with guards only a stone's throw away.
Hel, even on Odin's throne. Once!
Both of us relished the challenge, the thrill of it nothing if not intoxicating.

However, as the years rolled by, hiding our truth became increasingly harder to do. Especially in matters of good old Thor. There was a time when I almost ruined everything, mistaking the Thunderer for my Mischief - but that's a story for another day. For my deathbed, most likely.
Norns, what a disaster that had been.

Still, the hardest part of it all proved deceiving my dearest companion. It quickly became the worst feat about me - the ugly lies. But if Loki and I wanted to keep our youthful bliss, no one could know. Not yet.

'I hope you realise,' Loki noted one night in the halls before my chambers. He was smirking so savagely I might have evaporated into violet mist if not for his icy touch at my waist, 'that even though your physical age progresses faster than mine, my spirit's superiority over yours will always remain.'
Before I could protest, his finger pressed gently against my lips, silencing me as he brushed my forehead with his. 'Not that the idea of courting an older woman with a youthful soul doesn't stir something within me...'
At that, I shoved the sleazy prince with the greasy hair off me, placing my hands on my hips in mock-exasperation.
'You know, I could flatten you right here, right now.'
'Oh, my darling,' he teased, stepping closer whilst he reached for that silver lock hidden somewhere in my mop of hair - only to smooth it behind my ear. The gentleness of the action mixed with the blasted endearment sent my mind reeling; my lips aching to be shreded further.
'But do ponder a moment longer this aging situation. You may be at your physical peak now, but think of how long it will take before it begins to decrease. By then, I'll be the one with the upper hand once more.'
The mischievous gleam in his eyes, the way he bit his lower lip as he-
And just like that, I had him flattened on the marble floor beneath.
'Ugh,' he groaned dramatically though I could see the smirk creeping up the corners of his mouth. 'You really do like rising to your promises, huh?'
'Damn right I do, Loki darling.' I pressed a hungry, possessive kind of kiss to his delicious lips, letting a deep moan echo in the back of my throat. As a response, a groan rumbled low in his.