VAIN | Inside the Universe

Chapter Twenty Four • The Man After Midnight

The morning sun wasn't as harsh, but it woke me up nonetheless. The faint song of a bird in flight accompanied the wake up call and I could not find one reason to open my eyes yet. For what seems like the first time, the light doesn't necessarily come as an ill omen, and perhaps I could convince myself that to be true enough so I don't have to move.

I stir lightly in place to stretch myself into consciousness, running my arm up the smooth pillow I'm laid up against until my hand hooks the top, pulling it closer into me. I take a deep breath in as I do, releasing it into a series of light, faint hums after tasting the freshness of the morning air.

When the fuck did I get so soft?

I'm too comfortable to care. Never have I felt this sedated without actually having been injected with sedatives. I've never understood drug addicts more than in this moment and, all the same with normal, civilized people. This is addicting—wrapped gently in soft sheets, grasping onto a pillow that can withstand my hold, and the simple pleasure in fingertips slowly gliding along my spine. Abuse never felt so good.

And in that moment, as if on cue to spite me, the sun seemed to beam a bit more blindingly, the sheets worked to suffocate me, and the pillow I had been running my hands all over grew a rather fit chest.

I shoot my eyes open and push myself up, meeting the god at eye level with a hand still on his chest. He sat up against the headboard with a book in hand, his other still trailing softly up and down my back.

He lazily shuts the book and discards it on the side table, grinning idly at my sudden rise. "Good morning."

My lips part slowly as if to speak, but my eyes made the mistake of watching his mouth as he spoke. You would think Loki's smirk was the sexiest thing those lips could do, but my mind was quick to remind me of the countless things they could do better. 

His voice didn't help. It made me feel like a raw nerve. That deep, raspy groan that only morning could give him is alone the reason good girls don't go to heaven and the trigger that will put me under him again, gladly letting him drag his knife along my throat.

I'm fucked.

My loss for words didn't go unnoticed. He drew his fingers lightly up my spine, slowly marking the path to the back of my neck as my eyes forced themselves from his lips back to his eyes.

His fingers gently laced themselves through my hair, spreading his palm flat against the back of my head.

"I never thought it was possible," he whispers, leaning into my lips, "that you would be able to shut up."

Why does everything he says have to sound like a caress?

I smile before starting my hand up his chest, slowly leaning in to meet him until my hand settles comfortably around his neck, stopping him before he could reach my mouth. "Come any closer and I'll rip your heart out of your chest."

"There she is," he grins, the movement making his lips brush mine.

I slid my hand from his throat down to his chest, eliciting a dark groan that tightened the grip on my hair. It was a warning, as it always is, but his stormy eyes wanted to rebel against any sense. 

He raised an eyebrow after too long into our glance that prompted his own fingers to trickle down to my back again. Those eyes followed my lips as I pushed myself away before taking his hand off my back and returning it to him.

"I'm leaving this bed," I softly announce, though his eyes seemed a bit too preoccupied. I gather the comforter in my hands and bring it up against my chest before moving to the edge of the bed.