#i now see that ylva took all the height

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 32 - Whose bed have your boots been under?

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 31 -- Part 33

Pairing: Sy x Alicia (trans!ofc)

Summary: Sy finally takes Liz out on a date! (Which he's late for. And we know why.)

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, anal sex (f receiving), loads of nerves, mentions of transphobia, some angst, there's a horse dildo in there somewhere, Sy not eating a girl out for a change. This one's pretty basic actually...

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: And once again, it's been a while! I've been working on this date for a long time, but I was in a smut-writing-slump for some reason. Looks like I'm out of it now! (Heck yeah!) Now if maybe I could put this energy towards my novels, that would be superduper great, but you know the muse... Finnicky, fickle little fucker. Anyway: Enjoy nervous Sy on a date!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81

@ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @thelastsock @wa-ni

@proud-aroace-beastie @totalwool

“Couldn’t find a lower cut top to wear?” Dammit.

“I hate that that’s not even the worst opening line I’ve heard,” I say as I look up at Sy. I’m not wearing heels today, so he’s slightly taller than I am. I like it — not that a guy being shorter than me is a dealbreaker or anything… It’s more like… I’m tall for a girl, and that height sometimes makes me feel un-girly, which I hate. So, the fact that Sy is the kind of guy who looks like he could pick me up and throw me across a room… It helps.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” He smiles down at me, leaning in for a kiss. I have to admit I was worried about that. All of it. When he texted me after the party, I was just waiting for him to suggest the typical ‘movie at his place’ date, but he asked me where I wanted to go, and there happens to be a Shania Twain cover band playing tonight at a bar I like.

So, I told him we’re going to a bar. Didn’t mention the part about the Shania Twain covers.

“Wanna get going?” I can’t stop my voice from trembling, and I’m sure one look at my face will tell him more than he needs to know, so I turn around and start walking.

“Any particular reason you’re walking a mile and a half away from me?” He catches up with ease, grabs my hand and turns me to face him. “What’s going on? ‘Cause I’m gettin’ the feeling you don’t want to be out here with me.”

I scoff. “Right.” Do I tell him? He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me close. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, and all that heat is making me boil over. “I’m scared you don’t want to be out here with me.”

I’m shaking, and freezing cold and boiling hot at the same time. My heart races in my throat, and I can’t bring myself to look Sy in the eye. I can’t cry. Not here. Not now.

The feeling of his hand cupping my cheek almost pushes me over the edge. “I’m sure you have a reason for feeling that way,” he says softly. I nod — a tiny little nod that I’m not even sure he caught. “Mind telling me what it is?”

Fuck. I screw my eyes shut to stop the tears from falling, but they escape anyway. “I’ve dated guys before,” I mutter. “And they were super-duper okay with me, they said… It actually took me a while to realize — scratch that… A friend had to tell me… It was always their place or mine. Never dinner, or even a movie.”

There’s no stopping these tears now. “When my friend pointed it out, I asked the guy I was seeing about it, and…”

Sy pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. I inhale deeply on instinct. Leather. Spice. Warmth. “I don’t need to know what he said, because I’m pretty sure it would ruin my entire mood,” he says softly. That he didn’t want to be seen in public with me because he was scared it would make him look gay? Yeah, that’ll ruin your mood, alright… “But I want you to know I like you, Liz. Pretty sure I’d follow you anywhere.”

I’m laughing before I know it. “Well, that’s a good thing… Because I might have omitted a tiny little detail about the place we’re going…”

“Alright… I’ll go get us some drinks! Beer?” Without waiting for his answer — it’ll be ‘yes’ — I turn around and start to walk towards the bar. Try to, at least, because Sy grabs my arm and pulls me back until I’m standing with my back against his chest.

“I remember asking you out on a date, Liz.” His lips are right next to my ear, his beard tickles my neck, it’s… That damn cologne. Those damn, huge, strong hands keeping me pinned to him right now. “This is a date, right?”

“Yeah, Sy. It is. Wha—” He’s suddenly right in front of me, gently backing me into the wall, hands on my hips.

He leans his forehead against mine. “Let me make something very clear, sugar.” He speaks slowly, his voice dark and gruff. The sound of it shoots sparks straight down my spine, and I clench my thighs together. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before any woman of mine pays for her own drink on a date.”

Speaking. That’s a thing. Words are a thing. Do I know any? Voice… Where is my voice? Why am I just staring at him? That’s dumb. This is dumb. I’m dumb. Oh my god, what am I even doing here? “I, ehh…” Yeah. That’s not good. “Okay.”

He smirks down at me. “Beer?”

“Wine,” I manage — but barely.

Sy cocks an eyebrow. “You drink wine?” No. I don’t. But it makes me feel more feminine, and I really need that right now. “I’ve literally never seen you drink wine. Besides, people who drink wine usually tell you if they want red or white.”

“Okay, busted… I wanted to feel… girlier,” I admit.

“You dragged me to a Shania Twain cover band. We’re good on girly,” he says with a wink. “Beer?”

I nod, and semi-anxiously await his return. “You’re not mad about the music?” I ask as I take the bottle from his hand.

He chuckles as he shakes his head before raising his bottle. “To Shania Twain,” he says, “and great company.”

“Thanks so much for coming out, everyone! We’re gonna take a little break, and we’ll be right back!” The singer jumps off the small stage in the corner and makes a beeline for the bar, where she spots me. “Liz! I thought I saw you!” She’s got her arms wrapped around me before I can actually see her — during the first half of the set, the bar has gotten significantly more crowded.

“Hollie!” I love this girl, but if she doesn’t take her eyes off my man right this second, I’m throwing hands. “You’re doing amazing! How’s the cold?” It had her down for a good few days, she wasn’t even sure she’d make it tonight. I’m glad to see she’s doing well.

“Getting better! The full set is tough, though.” She downs the glass of water she’s holding. “We could use a little bit of you after this break, girl. But first, introduce me to this handsome gentleman.”

Is it totally horrible that I don’t fucking want to? I look at Sy, who casually reaches out a hand towards Hollie. “Nate Syverson. Call me Sy.”

“Well, Sy,” Hollie says with a sickly-sweet smile. Or is that my imagination? “What brings you here?”

“Liz,” he deadpans. Much to my surprise, he’s looking at me, barely even glancing at Hollie as he speaks. “She agreed to let me take her out on a date.”

“Lucky man… And you bring her here?” She gestures around the room before giving me the look.

“I dragged him here,” I admit. We go from ‘damn girl, nice! Break me off a piece of that!’ to ‘what the actual fuck were you thinking?’ in a matter of seconds. I look over at Sy — he looks insanely hot, the way he’s standing there, leaning against the bar. “Sorry, again.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, sugar,” he reaches for me, hooking his fingers behind my belt and pulling me back until I’m standing between his legs. Those same damn legs he’s been spreading a little too casually on that damn bar stool. The ones I can’t keep my eyes off. “I like the music.”

When he excuses himself and heads off to the bathroom, Hollie grabs my arm so hard it almost hurts. “You have to sing!”

“What? No!” Actually, yes. I’m secretly dying to get up there: I love to sing. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m good.

“Your song’s coming up, girl! I’m not giving you a choice.” Just Hollie being Hollie. “You want him to come home with you, yes?”

Duh. Then why is the gesture I make hesitant as all hell?

“Alright! For our next song, I’d like to invite a very special guest onto the stage… Alicia Thomson!”

Sy’s eyes go wide, and he raises an eyebrow. I take a deep breath. “Well, gotta go!”

I walk up to Hollie, who’s busy adjusting the mic stand. Even in this little bar, the lights are hot. And despite that, my arms are covered in goosebumps. Haven’t done this in a while… I can still see Sy, sitting in the same place as before, his gaze trained on my face with utmost concentration.

One side of my mouth curls up into a cheeky smile. “Whose bed have your boots been under?”

“So,” Sy says when I make my way back to him after the song is done. “You sing.”

“I sing,” I reply, my smile stretching ear to ear. I forgot how great that felt… Not nearly as great as the warm hands that pull me forward by my hips until I’m standing between Sy’s thighs again.

“Woman, you are amazing,” he says with a smile. When he kisses me, it’s like my heart stops. My head spins, my knees shake — the whole nine. He keeps it decent. Why? For the love of God: Why? Words cannot express how much I need this man, literally right now, and — if at all possible— incredibly indecent.

“Wanna get out of here?” Not subtle, but incredibly effective, if I do say so myself. He doesn't even answer me; he just grabs my hand and pulls me along to the exit.

We don't talk during the drive back to my place, or on the walk up to the apartment, which gives my insecurities plenty of time to get the upper hand — especially when Sy doesn't make a move as soon as the door closes, other than wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Are you opposed to watching movies in bed in general?” Dirty smirk? Check. Playful glint in his eyes? Check. Me unceremoniously shoving him against his shoulder? Check. Ugh. Get it together, Liz. And try to maybe not maim your date. He seems fine though.

Instead of answering, I grab his hand and drag him towards my bedroom, stopping right in front of the door as a sudden wave of anxiety grabs me by the throat. Did I clean my room? Did I put everything — and, yes, I mean everything, in that way — away?

“Liz?” He leans his chin on my shoulder from behind, while his hands slowly dance over my hips, fingertips barely grazing me.

“Can I get, like... Thirty seconds? Just to see if there's anything you shouldn't be seeing...”

“And what would I be seeing?” I can’t see his face, but I can hear the grin in his voice. Yeah... What would he be seeing? I hate the way his teasing seems to shut down my brain. I hate the fact that I could tease him right back if I could just find my nerve, even more.

Get a grip, Thomson.

I conjure up a grin and turn my head towards Sy, leaning it back on his shoulder to get my lips as close to his ear as possible. “Equipment of the... mature personal entertainment variety,” I purr softly. I can feel his cock twitch against my ass, and part of me really hopes it's the voice he reacts to, instead of the message. Another part of me, however, kinda hopes he’s into… that.

“Just open the damn door,” he groans, digging his fingers into my hips. “If I don't have more of you in my arms soon...”

Despite all this big talk, I'm still more or less mortified when the first thing Sy comments on is my favorite vibrator. It's on my bed, because it needed to charge. Regardless of whether it's actually done charging... it's done now. I yank it off the charger and toss it back in the drawer under my bed.

Sy chuckles as he drags a thumb over my no doubt crimson red cheeks. “The way you're looking at me right now, all terrified and whatnot, kinda makes me want to take a dive into that drawer...”

“You're not, like... pissed? Or, I don’t know... intimidated?” Wouldn't be the first time.

“Intimidated?” He laughs — the deep, full, throaty kind that men do that's hot and, in this particular case, slightly embarrassing. “Sugar, ain't no way I'm going to be intimidated by a piece of plastic.” He's still laughing when he drops himself onto my bed and rolls to the side by the wall.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to smack that cocky smirk off his face... Maybe I can. I lie down next to Sy and reach into the drawer. “Not even this one?” I wave a whole lot of light blue silicone in his face until he grabs my wrist and looks at the toy I'm holding with wide eyes. He's definitely not smirking now...

“Sugar... Before I even ask any questions...” He blinks a few times as if that's going to magically make the dildo I'm holding up disappear — or at least transform into something that doesn't look like it jumped straight out of my — or maybe his, who knows? — OF subscriptions. “I grew up around horses. I know what that is...”

“Oh my god!” I laugh — no. Cackle. — and hide my face behind my free arm. “Sorry,” I mutter, “I'm a bit of a freak.”

“As long as we're keeping that away from me, I'm good with that,” he chuckles. “Now... Where the hell does that even go? Never mind...”  He knows the answer. I know that, because the last time I saw him, I told him there was no way he was ever going to fit in my pussy. And since this thing is bigger than he is by... not even as much as you'd expect, looking at the size of that toy, really... God, the man is massive...

I put the dildo back under the bed and snuggle into Sy's side. I admire the way he just makes himself at home in my room, grabbing the remote off the shelf over my headboard. “Do we go the cheesy romcom route, or do we opt for Mike's favorite tactic?”

“I'm assuming that would be ‘worst horror movie of the century’, then ‘hold her when scared’?” I ask, and Sy nods. “What if I don't get scared?”

“I could pretend to be scared.” He smirks down at me. “But we'd have to switch positions.”

I shake my head. I'm comfortable, lying here with my head on his chest, my leg swung over his. There's one thing missing, though. Blankets. Lots of ‘em!

“It's freezing in here, sugar.” Oh? Really? I hadn't noticed! It's not like I turned the heater off before I left and opened the window... I look up at him like I don't know what he's talking about, but he won't fall for it. “Fucking hell, y'all are somethin' else!”

We get under the covers, and I sigh as I sink into his arms again. “But it's comfy, right?”

He rolls his eyes at me and turns his attention back to the TV. “Horror, romcom or something else?”

“Romcom. Anything Ashton Kutcher is fine by me.” Besides... I was actually hoping we wouldn't be watching most of it because we'd be too busy doing other things. Like making out like our lives depend on it.

Imagine my surprise — and horror — when I see an annoyingly large amount of Ashton Kutcher, and very little of Sy's body. What is he waiting for? An invitation carved in marble? I'm practically on top of him, for crying out loud! This is just rude.

And as if that's not bad enough... “Sugar, would you stop squirming?” he suddenly asks.

“I'm squirming to get your attention,” I huff. “Y'know... so you'll grab me, and kiss me, and we can get to the good stuff? You inside me, to name something...”

He winces when I say it. What kind of man winces at the prospect of sex? Okay, I mean... tons of them, probably, and for all kinds of good reasons... But Sy is known, by and large, as a bit of a slut.

“Hey!” he says, glaring at me when I point that out. “Us sluts get nervous, too.”

“Nervous about what?” Oh my God! “Shit, about what I said last time? I mean... I wasn't kidding, but... Ah. First time, right?” The nod he gives in response is damn near imperceptible. “You know we don't have to go there, right?”

“I, eh... No, that's not... Not that I... Wh— I give up. There's no way to say that in any kind of way that doesn't make it sound like I'm not here for you, but for that, and...”

“The gist of what you're not saying would be that it's every man's dream, right?” I can't hold back my laughter. “Sy, it's okay! You suffered through Shania Twain for me — even though I suspect you secretly love her — and you tell me you like me in public, I know—”

“Is the bar really that low, Liz?” He stares at me with wide open eyes, and I can't think of a single thing to say.

I shrug, tears burning behind my eyes as I barely manage to squeeze the words out: “Yeah. I mean, with guys, it sort of is...”

His fingers trail over my cheek, all the way down until they rest at the nape of my neck, and he pulls me close. “You deserve better.”

I guess we're finally done with Ashton Kutcher for tonight... Sy's lips are warm against mine as he kisses me. It's tender. Romantic. Lacking every bit of the raw, needy passion from the New Years party... I'm sure I'll get to see that side of him again sooner rather than later, though. I can feel in in the way he pulls me in, fingertips pressing into my lower back as he firmly holds my body flush against his.

He's hard — my squirming worked — but there's nothing about him or his behavior that draws any attention to the fact. What a true gentleman.

Sy pulls back and raises an eyebrow when I chuckle out loud. “Not what a man wants to hear,” he mutters under his breath, making me laugh even harder.

“I’m sorry,” I manage between fits of laughter. Am I laughing to avoid having a serious conversation about this? Absolutely! It’s way too early for that. I barely know this guy. That said, the laughter isn’t exactly helping, I suppose, so it doesn’t really matter. “It’s just that you’re trying so hard to be sweet and gentlemanly and I’m over here trying to seduce you and it feels a little… backwards? It’s funny, okay?”

His eyes darken, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and rough. “Ain’t so funny to me, sugar.” If the voice wasn’t doing it, the way he’s squeezing my ass through my jeans right now would. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreaming about that pretty mouth on my dick.”

Oh, so we’re playing it like that, all of a sudden? “Including that other thing I did?” I tease. It’s fun to watch his cheeks flush as he tries to keep his composure.

“I’d like to reiterate my disinterest in silicone horse cock,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady. “But otherwise; yeah.”

I look at him for a second too long, and next thing I know, we’re both laughing uncontrollably. “If we keep this up, neither of us is getting laid tonight,” I manage in between fits of laughter.

“Might be for the best…” Hey, what now? I frown — not in an angry way, but in complete and utter confusion. Sy sighs deeply and rests his forehead against mine. “I’m stalling. Under normal circumstances… No, fuck, I didn’t mean— That’s not— All I’m sa—”

He rolls onto his back and groans while I bite back a laughing fit that would most likely make him run.

“Sy,” I whisper, scared that if I speak louder, I won’t be able to control myself, “stop worrying about saying the wrong thing. These are not normal circumstances — well, they are for me, but you know what I mean. You have some leeway in the vocabulary, I promise.”

I take a deep breath and roll on top of him, straddling his hips and sliding my hands under his t-shirt. Don’t feel like laughing now, do you, Thomson? Sy groans when I roll my hips. The way he looks up at me raises goose bumps all over my body. Big hands rest on my thighs, fingers tightening with every move of my hips, squeezing me hard…

My hands are on his chest now, nails digging into his skin, leaving little half-moon marks from the pressure. His eyes are locked on mine, his breathing heavy and quick… As soon as I sit up again, he pulls his shirt over his head, and I follow suit. His Adam’s apple bobs aggressively when he swallows hard, and I smile smugly.

I appreciate being appreciated. Admired. Coveted. And Sy is giving me exactly what I need.

He sits up against the headboard, pulling me in with just two fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans. Heated moans fill the air as he crushes his mouth against mine, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth while his hands work quickly to undo my belt and unbutton my jeans.

“Could’ve worn one with a zipper,” he growls quietly as he fusses with buttons number two and three. Yeah. I could have. He should be glad they’re not skinny jeans.

The sensation of his warm hands competing with the cold air as he moves them over my waist and the small of my back, is electrifying. To make matters worse — or better — it’s followed by a slow, sensual kiss in my neck. Then another. Then another.

He’s moving, searching, my hands clasping the back of his head, guiding him, until… There. Heady moans escape me with every pass of his tongue over that spot at the crook of my neck, every playful nibble, while every needy roll of my hips earns me a dark chuckle, muffled against my skin. One hand rests on the band of my bra, while the other is draped around my waist, pulling me down while his hand dips into my jeans and squeezes my ass.

Fuck. I need friction. Lots of it. Now! I grind down on him harder, but it’s not working — not like this. There’s too much denim. Too many clothes in general, I—

One simple move of his hand and my bra snaps open. Damn, he’s good. I sigh, my breath quivering with disappointment as his mouth leaves my neck and travels down my sternum.

Sy's barely had his mouth on my nipple for ten seconds when a sudden, harsh bite makes me whimper. “Take these fucking jeans off,” he growls, pushing me back with force. He takes care of his belt buckle with one hand. Why is that hot? “And everything else, too.”

Moments later, we’re naked, pressed up against each other, every atom of space between us one too many. I used to hate being naked — I still do, occasionally, but right now, with him… It’s wonderful. My hands roam over his chest, down his abs, exploring his body. I teasingly run a finger down the length of his cock, and he shivers, moaning into my mouth as we continue making out. It’s his turn to grind against me with burning need and impatience, and I chuckle.

It’s a powerful feeling to have a man want you this bad.

His hands linger on my ass, his touch switching between punishing and demanding, and hesitant and shy.

“You’ll have to, at some point,” I tease. He knows what I mean.

“I—” The end of his sentence is an adorably helpless, clueless look as he shrugs.

It’s a good thing I don’t mind taking point for educational purposes, or else this whole thing never would have worked out. Behind my back, I grab his wrist, and bring his fingers up to my lips. He gets the hint, biting his lip as I suck his fingers into my mouth, his cock twitching against my stomach.

I reach down between us and wrap my fingers around his hard length, while Sy very slowly and very gently eases a finger into my ass. I resist the urge to chuckle when I see his eyes go wide. Sy’s face doesn’t usually have subtitles, but I can see every thought going through his head right now in quick succession.

“I said it would fit,” I say, “not that you could ram it up there within ten seconds, no problem. Just take it easy, take your time.”

“Is it— I mean, does it…” His voice trails off into a desperate moan when I trail my thumb over the underside of the head of his cock.

“Feel good? Yeah it does.” I push back against his finger a bit. I’m five seconds away from begging him for more, faster, harder, deeper, anything… The feeling of the tip of a second finger teasing me gets my hopes up, but he stops.

“Do you have any lube?” he asks carefully.

It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. Not only do I think that stupid questions do exist, I also firmly believe they deserve an equally stupid answer. “No, I was planning on taking this entire thing up my ass completely dry,” I snap a little too sourly as I squeeze his cock, making him groan. “Believe me, neither of us want that. That’s how you end up in the ER.”

I can barely reach my nightstand from this position, but I don’t really want to move away from him. Finally! I triumphantly pull the bottle out of the drawer. “Here you go! Don’t ration it.” He laughs when I wink at him.

He takes the advice to heart, coating his fingers in a very liberal amount of lube. I continue stroking him as my heart flutters in anticipation. My stomach is sticky with precum — his too, probably — and every stroke draws another deeply sexy moan from him while he explores me with two thick fingers, moving them as if he’s searching for some— Ah! Right.

“Wrong angle,” I moan against his skin, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

I push his hand away and lift my leg up to his hip. Sy understands immediately, reaching between my legs to continue what he was doing.

“Found it,” I say, smirking up at him when he’s found the right spot. I abandon my attempt to continue the sort-of-handjob I was working on. We both need to focus right now.

One of the best things about Sy is that he seems happy to put his ego aside for the sake of learning. He’s not insulted by instructions, and he takes advice to heart. I’d say I appreciate it, but it’s really more of a hard requirement to even get into my bed — it's been quite a while since I last wasted my time on silly little boys who don’t listen when I clearly spell out to them what feels good and what doesn’t.

Sy is a quick study, too, and I’m squirming in his arms in no time, breathing heavily against his neck, with my arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Don’t change a thing,” I moan. Pressure steadily builds inside me, and I know an earth-shattering orgasm is within arms reach, and all he has to do is keep. going. “I’m so close…”

Every perfectly steady stroke of his fingers winds me tighter and tighter until I snap. A sharp his escapes Sy when I dig my nails into his back and bite his shoulder. It’s the only thing I can do to keep myself from screaming as every fiber of my being unravels around his fingers.

He lets me catch my breath for a moment, then he looks at me, unsure how to proceed.

“One more, to be sure,” I say weakly, not entirely recovered yet. I’m pretty damn relaxed, so I don’t expect much trouble. Indeed, the next finger slips in without a hitch. Good. “Wanna give it a try?”

He nods furiously, catching himself in the act and calming down immediately to a tougher, more laissez-faire attitude. I can’t help but chuckle as I reach for the drawer again and pull out a condom.

“How, eh…” He makes a few vague hand gestures.

“The logistics?” I ask, and Sy nods in reply. “I prefer doggy, but…”

“I want to see your face,” he blurts out before I can finish my sentence. It’s sweet, he doesn’t easily look shy…

I pull him in for a kiss. It’s gentle, sweet, and clearly telling me just how nervous he is right now. When he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against mine and lets out a trembling breath.

“I want you on top of me,” I say softly, and he nods, moving to sit on his knees between my legs. He puts the condom on and then takes the bottle of lube, applying a generous amount to his cock before looking at me. There’s a question burning in his eyes.

I let my legs travel up his sides, never breaking eye contact, until my ankles are on his shoulders. He lifts a trembling hand, hooking it around my thigh, and pulls me closer before leaning over me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous, sugar.”

“Look at me, Sy,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. “Just take it easy, go slow, and listen to me. That’s all you have to do.” Well, that and screw me to heaven and beyond. But let’s not tell him that right now.

He swallows hard, putting more of his weight on top of me as he uses one hand to position himself, and I feel him slowly, steadily pushing into me. It’s impossible to fight back a grin when I see his face: mouth hanging open, eyes wide at first, then screwed tightly shut…

“Easy,” I remind him gently. He’s not hurting me — not yet. “Stop for a second.” He instinctively pulls away, but I stop him. “Just stay there. Give me a second.”

My heart threatens to jump right out of my chest, and it feels like electricity runs through my veins — it’s exactly that excitement that keeps me from being able to handle this right now, and it bugs me.

Deep breath in. Hold. Breathe out.

I repeat it a few times, until I feel Sy sink into me a little further. “We’re good,” I say, my voice barely more than a breath.

Carefully, he pushes deeper into me, until his hips rest against my ass. “Goddamn, sugar,” he pants.

“Tell me about it,” I reply with a smile, relishing the feeling of his thick cock stretching me out. His first thrust makes me whine — then again, louder, when he leans down to kiss me. He sticks with a slow, gentle rhythm, in time with the way his lips move against mine. His low growls mixed with my moans fill the room, and soon I’m begging him to go faster.

“I won’t last ten seconds,” he grunts, but I don’t really care. So he sits up on his knees again and picks up the pace, his thrusts growing rougher with every move. His breathing quickens, his grip on my thighs tightens. I watch his face closely, amusement mixed in with my own desire. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead. He’s clenching his jaw, lips trembling as he tries to hold on — but it’s no use.

“Fuck.”

‘Fuck’, indeed. His last thrusts are reckless, punishing, the low growl he lets slip as he finishes is music to my ears. I whine softly when he pulls out, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden emptiness.

It gets worse when he gets out of bed to clean up. I’m shivering, cold and alone, furiously wishing for Sy to come back and hold me. “Sy?” I plead. “Please talk to me.”

“What? I’ll be right there, sugar.” I know it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even leave the room, for crying out loud! And yet I feel tiny and abandoned until Sy crawls back under the covers with me and holds me safely in his arms. “Shower?”

“Tomorrow,” I sigh, snuggling tightly against his chest. Yeah. This is alright.

[leah-halliwell92]

Red Wolf

Summary: Ylva daughter of Thorsten the smith of their settlement has declared her of marriageable age. The contract had been struck between him and Bjørn Njalsson the skillful carpenter and former warrior of the settlement. His only daughter would be protected and future secured, now to actually tell her.

Ylva = female wolf  Njalsson = Great Bjørn = Bear

Part 1

“Ylva my little wolf please consider the prospects of such a union,” Thorsten pleaded with his youngest and only daughter as they sat at for their dinner. 

Ylva held a sigh as she pushed the bread about her bowl of stew. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry. Her reluctance came from something else...

“It has been five years since the loss of the lady Ingrid,” she said trying with all her might to remain calm, “Five years of being on his own and five years without a woman by his side.”

Thorsten sighed at this and nodded for he knew it was true.

It had been five long years since the death of the wood carver’s wife, many in the towns had speculated that it was a jilted lover who killed her for choosing the carver over him. Other, the more kindly of neighbors thought something more real...and close to home had occurred. Burning questions and gossip had gone rampant back home about it, about him. It had driven her to near madness how they treated the normal stoic yet kind soul that is Bjørn Bergman. 

“Maybe he knows it’s time for a second chance,” her father reassured her, “He will be a good match for you.”

Ylva nodded hoping to be convincing before sighing in relief that her father bought the act. 

‘It has nothing to do with him that is the problem,’ she thought as she continued eating, ‘I will be the problem. I will be a burden to him as a young wife, I may be young but I am far from a fool. I fear the ghost of his beloved will haunt me till I join my kin in Valhalla.’

Ylva was not expecting a warm welcome when she went to meet him officially the following day. Her father insisted on arriving at Bjørn’s home near the sea early, insisting that punctuality was important. That it showed they were people of their word when they made it. She’d have believed him but knew that appearing in a man’s home unannounced whether they would be going anyway or not is not a good way to make a good impression. 

Upon arrival to the sea side road Ylva marveled at the sight. It is like the best of both worlds to her the sea on one side and the forest on the other, both resources needed to survive. Arriving at the homestead, she saw the one story home and nearly gasped at how lovely it is. Single floored home with space for both a garden and small animal pen, the home itself looked big enough to house a family of four. It wasn’t a long house like those back home but it had an appeal she wouldn’t mind calling home. 

The closer they got, Ylva saw her betrothed to be on sheer size alone. His height astounded her! She’d heard he is the tallest of the men in their settlement but had not believed it until she saw him. A side view provided her with some details on his physicality. Dark hair cut short close to his scalp, equally dark eyes (from what little she could see) and a dark beard streaked with grey gave him a distinguished look without making him look old. It did make her wonder what he looked like underneath all that hair.

“Greetings friend!” Her father called out as he rode to the gate of the yard. 

Bjørn turned to face him and gave a half grin and nod in greeting. 

Ylva gave a small nod and grin in greeting before dismounting her horse.  

“Welcome,” Bjørn said with a kind grin on his face as he walked over. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” her Thorsten said, “Forgive the early arrival, the day’s orders can be put on hold for so long.”

Bjørn nodded in understanding at this and motioned for them to enter his home. 

“This is my daughter Ylva,” he introduced before they went in. 

Ylva felt the taller man’s gaze on her and she met it head on, not in challenge but showing that she was not afraid. Ylva knew he’d seen battle just as she had and she wouldn't take anything less than what she deserves. She can be patient and all the qualities a good wife is and should be. However she will not be cowed for being female.

Bjørn looked at her appreciatively, liking the hidden strength he saw in her blue eyes. 

“Welcome,” he said with a kind grin nodding them to enter his home. 

Inside, Ylva saw his shield and sword and marveled, she isn’t short by any means but that sword could have dwarfed her. She was impressed, very impressed. His prospects were looking more than incredible. 

She gave opted to explore the woods behind his home affording the men time to discuss the marriage contract.

In her explorations, she took the time to center herself and really think about what it would be like to be married. If you’d asked her if she was looking forward to it she’d have said yes...that is if the identity of her suitor was not revealed. It has nothing to do with Bjørn himself either. He’s a widower, all in town knew how he’d adored his late wife. Raven haired and crystalline blue eyes. 

She’d heard talk around their settlement of the late of Astrid the Raven. How she fought bravely and married an equally brave and strong fighter. Her reluctance in marrying Bjørn stems from her own insecurities, he may grow to like her yes but he’d never lover her as a man loves a woman. 

Ylva shook herself away from those thoughts, sending a prayer of thanks to the gods for just giving her the chance and honor to be the wife of such a great warrior. She is optimistically hopeful for there to be mutual affection between them even if it is just to alleviate sexual tension. Even if it was a bad idea to hope for more.

On her way back to the house, she saw her father and Bjørn shaking hands and nodding at each other. Ylva could see that they’d come to an agreement, this was confirmed when her father called for her, “Ylva!”

Ylva approached the men hoping her appearance looked passive. 

“Yes father,” she said with a small grin. 

Your father looked on you fondly and explained how all would go now that the final negotiations have been made and approved of by not only both parties but by her as well and a date was set for the last Friday of the month for all preparations to take place. 

00//00//00

“He’s coming to meet you,” your father said as he followed you about your home not a week after your meeting with Bjørn, “You need to be ready.”

Ylva rolled her eyes as she took the rolls of fire wood she’d gathered earlier in the day and taking it to the smithy where her father worked. 

“I know father,” she said trying not to sound as exasperated as she felt with him anxiously following her around, “But not so soon that I cannot finish my morning chores.”

Thorsten eve her a peaked look but left her be going to the shop to see what needed mending or who needed their orders filled. 

Ylva breathed a sigh of relief and followed with the wood before rinsing her hands in some water and getting started on the dinner they would eat that day. This would have to be the best thing she’d need to make to see if Bjørn sees her as a good cook. This would be the first time he’d be visiting with them in their home, first impressions were everything and all she could hope for that he saw she keeps her father’s home in order enough to approve of her leading his home. 

She is but isn’t nervous of the coming visit. She approves of him and from her father had told her of their meeting alone, Bjørn had approved of her as well.

00//00//00

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[mrspasser]

Bound - a short Loki fanfic

Credits for the cover art go to @nanihoosartblog, I found the picture online and loved it :-)

***

Bound

It was meant to be humiliating, making Loki watch the party in shackles. Yet she couldn’t find it shameful; he didn’t seem to think so either. He was watching the gathered people with disdain, the flickering light of the fire not even reaching his outstretched legs because he was that far away. His face was in the shadows, though she could see the hard glimmer in his eyes. He was angry, his pride was probably hurt, yet he still managed to look like he had planned to be put in the corner like that.

Ylva didn’t really know why the youngest son was bound this time. Maybe he’d stabbed Thor, or had made his older brother believe he was a snake again. Loki was always scheming to thwart the plans of Thor and his friends. If they didn’t include him, he made sure to include himself somehow. Ylva was sure he would deny her theory fiercely, another reason to make her think she was right.

She thought a lot about Loki, probably way more than he would ever think about her. He knew who she was, of course, being Fandral’s younger sister she was about the same age as Loki and they more or less hung out with the same people. She also saw him in the library often, when the lessons were done and they had to do homework. Thor always snuck out and went to the training grounds; Loki didn’t, though he didn’t really do his homework either. He was always reading, trying to go deeper or further or beyond the stuff their teachers talked about. Of course he had private lessons, he wasn’t in her class; he was a prince after all and she was definitely not royal. Yet she didn’t think his lessons differed much from hers, she had seen him with the same textbooks she had.

She saw a lot. She saw how he licked his finger before turning a page. She saw how he sometimes frowned when he was reading, or how he bit his lip when he came upon something particularly complicated. She also saw how the corners of his mouth turned up when he read something he liked, or the way his eyes lit up when he got excited over a book. She also saw how the young prince - and this was her favourite thing to watch - rested his head in his hand when he got a little tired, his fingers woven in between his dark hair. Tired Loki who enjoyed the book he was reading, that was her favourite image of him.

He probably barely had any image of her in his head. When someone mentioned her to him he most likely thought of some generic girl, not specifically of a girl with strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and freckles that became more prominent in the summer. Or a girl that liked the same books as he did. Or a girl that was always trying to come up with something to say to him, but always came up blank whenever his eyes happened to glance over her. He knew of her, but he didn’t know her.

It might be the mead in her blood, or it might be that the warm night made her bolder, but she had slowly backed away from the merry circle of people around the fire and now she was approaching the trickster prince from the side.

They had shackled his hands behind the last pole of the fence that divided the sparring area in two. It was not much of a fence; just wooden poles in the ground, connected with a plank nailed against the side of the poles. Loki was sitting on a sandbag or something, it couldn’t be all that comfortable, yet he seemed relatively at ease.

“Hey, Ylva,” he greeted her casually when she came close. It surprised her that he knew her name. They’d never really talked before, apart from the obligatory greetings and a little smalltalk when they found themselves in the same company.

“Hi,” she said softly, because she felt a little awkward about coming over to him and because she didn’t want any of the others to notice them. The whole point of his punishment was ignoring the boy and that was the opposite of what she was doing.

She walked past the dark-haired prince and stopped to lean on the fence with a few feet between them. Looking down on him like this she could see how his longish hair curled at his collar; she wanted to touch it, to feel if it really was as soft as it looked. 

He had to turn his head a little to look at her, which he did as if they just happened to run in to each other. “Enjoying the party?” It sounded like an everyday question. Like he wasn’t being made to sit it out like some lowly criminal who would be dealt with later. His situation reminded her of a Midgardian western story she once read, where the hero went into the tavern for a drink and had the bad guy tied up with the horses outside. Loki had read the same book, she had seen him with it the week after she returned it to the library.

“Nah,” she said. “Volstagg wants to drink all the mead, my brother wants to kiss all the girls,” she gestured with her tankard of mead to the people around the fire, “and everybody listens to your brother’s brawny stories like they’ve not heard them at least ten times before.”

Loki chuckled. “Same old, same old.”

“Precisely.” Ylva took a sip from her mead. The honey drink was warm in her throat.

“Can I have some?” Loki asked, looking at her tankard.

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Ylva pushed herself upright and wanted to walk back to the fire, where a barrel of mead was being held hostage by Volstagg. “I’ll go get you a drink.”

“No, don’t,” he said quickly. “They’ll stop you. Just give me some of yours.”

Ylva started to hold out her tankard to him, though she quickly realised her mistake. What was he gonna do? Hold the rim of the tankard between his teeth and just tip his head back? She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and walked around the fence to crouch down in front of him. Loki was following her movements and she felt heat creep up her neck; hopefully it was dark enough for him not to notice it. She had never been this close to him before - not when they were alone - and even though he was just watching what she was doing, it felt way too intimate already.

She angled the tankard to his lips and started to tip it carefully. She couldn’t really see what she was doing, sitting right in front of him and awkwardly trying to avoid touching his legs or any other part of him. The result was a splutter from Loki and mead that ran down his chin and neck.

“Careful!” he huffed, though he didn’t sound mad. If anything, he sounded a little amused.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ylva whispered hurriedly and before she had thought it through she had her sleeve already bunched up around her hand and wiped his chin dry. Maybe she should have gone easier on the mead tonight.

Loki raised his chin to expose his throat. “I think you missed a spot,” he instructed dryly and when she moved her hand to clean there too they both started to laugh, breaking the tension.

“Try again,” Loki chuckled, sitting up straighter. “Try not to pour it down my shirt this time.”

Ylva sat more to the side now, her knees pressed to the burlap bag of sand Loki was sitting on. She had to lean on his shoulder a little to get the angle right, but this time he could drink without spilling the honey wine all over him.

When he pulled back, there was just a little left and Ylva drank it in one swig before putting the tankard down behind her. She sat down on the sandy ground of the sparring pit, wrapping her arms around her knees. They both stared in silence at the people by the fire, watching the lights play over their faces.

Thor was in the center, easily recognised by his height and blond hair. He was talking animatedly, gesturing wildly with his tankard. Using one of his friends as a prop, he was imitating a fight scene or something.

Her own brother was there too, a little to the side, a girl in each of his arms. As Ylva watched he whispered something in their ears, one at a time, making them giggle and clutch to him tighter. To her disgust they walked away in the direction of the gardens after that, leaving Ylva without a doubt about their plans once they got to the dark, secluded palace gardens.

She must have made a disapproving sound, because Loki responded understandingly. “Brothers… right?”

“I don’t know what is more disgusting. His slutty behaviour or theirs.”

“They’re just having fun,” Loki shrugged.

“Can’t be that much fun,” Ylva said curtly. “It’s never the same girl twice. Apparently they’re all no good.”

The prince started to laugh silently, his chest moving up and down. “That is one way to look at it.”

“He’s almost out of girls, I think. Next, he has to move on to guys.” She turned to Loki with a smirk. “You better watch out, pretty boy!”

“You think I’m pretty?” Loki’s smirk became wider as hers disappeared, his perfectly straight teeth white in the dark.

Ylva scrambled to her feet, heat rushing to her face. She had no witty comeback for this and walking away would only confirm she thought he was handsome, yet it was all she could think of doing right now.

But she could not stand up straight and go: her dress was stuck. She turned back and tugged at it, only to get two little tugs back in response. Loki was holding the edge of her skirt in his bound hands, it had been in his reach when she was sitting down next to him.

“Don’t go,” he said and it sounded suspiciously like a plea. “Come on, Ylva, sit down.” He looked from her to the people by the fire. “I could use some company.”

Ylva turned to him and he released the hem of her dress, the fabric pooling around her legs. She didn’t sit down again, yet she had no intention of walking away anymore either. “Why don’t you just teleport out of here?” she asked. “You can do that, right?”

He grimaced. “Not when I’m stuck like this. I’d have to take the whole fence with me, I can’t do that. Yet.” He stuck his chin up with the last word, like it was only a matter of time before he would learn how to do that.

Ylva felt the wood of the fence; it was sturdy enough as a barrier, yet the top plank was simply nailed to the posts. Though he was no muscled warrior like his brother, Loki was strong enough on his own. “You could probably break out, it’s just a wooden railing.”

Loki leaned sideways and inspected the post he was bound to. “I could, though not without making a lot of noise.”

“Can’t you magick the nails out?” Ylva had crouched down next to him on the balls of her feet, taking a closer look at the fence. It was hard to see in the dark, so she felt with her hand how the plank was attached to the pole.

“I’ll add that to my list of things to learn in magic school,” Loki said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at her from his leaning position. “For now, you’ll have to help me.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Ylva answered absentmindedly, trying to make out the heads of the nails in the wood with her fingertips. Her tongue slipped out between her teeth, as always when she was concentrating hard. There were only two nails, about three inches apart. That seemed a bit far apart, so she eased her hand to the back of the plank. She kind of lost her footing for a moment, but Loki didn’t seem to mind that she rested her knee on his thigh to keep herself balanced. Ylva leaned even further over him, to get a better feel of the pole and the plank behind him. The top of Loki’s head just came up to the plank, which was about six inches wide. If she had thought about it in advance, it would have made more sense to get up and walk around Loki to check out the fence; yet she was here now anyway, with enough mead in her system to make her care a little less about what she was doing.

“Yes! Got it!” Ylva exclaimed, getting hushed by Loki immediately.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “They’ll hear us.”

Ylva glanced back to the fire, where everyone still seemed occupied with drinking and talking to each other. Nobody was paying attention to the prince or the girl that was practically in his lap by now. She tried not to think too hard about that little fact. Or that Loki had sat up straighter again, which meant his face was closer than before.

“There is only one nail in this plank,” she whispered at him. “The other one missed the post.”

“Which means even your tiny girl biceps can pry it loose?” Loki teased.

She hit his arm. Hard.

“I take that as a yes,” he smirked.

“Fine, I’ll try,” she grumbled, standing up from her crouched position. Ylva pulled her sleeves down to protect her hands and grabbed the plank. Standing next to Loki didn’t give her the right angle, so she had to stand over him to really be able to use her strength. The prince didn’t complain, he kept his head down as she put her weight in to pull at the wood. “Next time, remind me to bring a crowbar,” Ylva groaned, jostling the plank. It moved a bit, she was pretty sure she could wrench the nail out if only she pulled hard enough.

At the moment Loki lifted his head to make some joke about her being an excellent sidekick if she carried a crowbar as a weapon, Ylva pulled extra hard and the plank suddenly came loose, hitting Loki in the head.

She cursed under her breath and instinctively cradled Loki’s head against her to rub over the sore spot at the back of his head, smothering his loud curses in her skirt as an extra benefit. “Sorry, sorry!” she whispered. “You should have kept your head down!”

Suddenly Ylva became aware how Loki was shaking under her hands. For a second she thought he was crying, until she heard him laugh. His voice was barely audible with his face hidden in her dress, but she could hear him clear as day. 

“Valhalla, Ylva! Does this count as second or third base?!” He nearly choked on his words from laughing.

With an annoyed cry she released him, pushing him back against the pole. Loki slumped against it, heaving with laughter.

Ylva surely hoped nobody would come look why Loki was laughing so hard. What would she say? I hit him in the head and I pulled him against me to console him like a little kid, inadvertently pressing his face in my crotch? Gods, what was she doing?! Ylva stepped back and tripped over her dress - or Loki’s feet - and fell flat on her ass between his lower legs. Wonderful, as if she needed to make an even greater fool out of herself!

Loki took one look at her exasperated face and started laughing again. Ylva couldn’t help but start laughing too and when he pushed her with his foot she easily tipped to the side, pressing her hand over her mouth to try and keep quiet.

It took them a few minutes to gather themselves again, before they could start getting Loki off the fencepost. The prince easily got to his feet and Ylva pulled the plank free from the post so Loki could slip his arms out.

“Let’s not talk about what just happened ever again,” she stated sternly as he stretched his back; he had been sitting there quite a while.

“I can’t promise that,” Loki answered with glinting eyes, easily stepping out of her reach as she tried to hit his arm again. “Thanks for helping me out, though. Now we just have to get rid of the shackles.”

Ylva tilted her head to look behind Loki’s back at his bound wrists. It looked like Thor had borrowed the restraints from a prison guard. “Can you pick the lock?”

He shook his head. “Not when it’s behind my back. I’ll have to…” He stopped talking and lowered himself to the ground. Ylva bit back a giggle when he wriggled and bent his body as far as it would go with the goal of bringing his arms back to his front. It worked, exposing a fair bit of skin on his back and stomach when his shirt rode up. Or maybe his pants got lower, it was hard to say in the dark, even though Ylva watched with interest. “Odin’s beard, I’m gonna feel that tomorrow,” Loki groaned as he stood up again, rolling his shoulders.

The young prince lifted his wrists up to his face, hoping it would help him see how he could get the restraints off in the dark. Ylva peered at the metal shackles from the side; they looked fairly big around the boy’s wrists.

A cry from someone by the fire startled them both. To Ylva’s horror multiple dark figures were suddenly running towards them, yelling things like “Get them!” and other inaudible cries.

“We have to run!” she gasped, turning to Loki.

He looked over her shoulder and then back to her. “Too late,” he exclaimed and then out of the blue he lifted his arms and brought them down around her, the shackles hard against her back.

She fell against him and as his arms closed her in firmly, she felt a sudden sharp pull on her body. It was like someone yanked her from her feet in one strong tug and at the same time it felt like falling, but falling in a horizontal direction while her stomach went the other way.

As fast as it came, it was over. Ylva swallowed back some bile, reeling on her feet. Loki still had his arms around her and his face was pressed in the crook of her neck. He held her up, though she did the same for him. “Give me… a second…” the young prince panted, his breath hot on her skin.

Ylva bunched his shirt in her hands, giving herself something to hold on to in fear of toppling over. “What… what was that?” she asked, after she was sure she wouldn’t retch up the mead when she opened her mouth.

“I’m kinda… proud of myself,” Loki answered out of breath, his head still on her shoulder even though he had to stoop down a little to do that. In fact, Ylva felt he had widened his stance to be lower. “I never… teleported two people at once before.”

“That was teleporting?” Ylva muttered irritatedly. “I hate it.”

His chuckle vibrated against her throat, making her shiver in a very, very good way. He straightened out after that, meaning she had to look up to look him in the eye. Which she didn’t, not right away anyway, because even if you had held a knife to her throat she couldn’t tell you if the featherlight kiss she had felt against her skin before he pulled away was real or not. She had to decide it was a figment of her imagination before she was able to look him in the face again.

Looking Loki in the eye while he still had his arms around her, the shackles resting lightly against the small of her back, turned out to be an impossible task. So Ylva looked at the dark shapes surrounding them. “Where are we?”

“Behind mother’s greenhouse,” Loki said, looking around himself too. He looked down. “I think we’re standing in one of her flowerbeds, better get out before we trample everything.”

If Ylva had expected him to release her from his embrace, she was wrong. Instead, he simply pressed his arms together to lift her up by her waist and took two big steps to get them out of the queen’s flowerbeds.

Only after they were standing on the cobblestoned path did he lift his arms so she could step away from him. That meant releasing his shirt too, which she apparently was still holding on to. Ylva awkwardly smoothed the fabric a bit; she couldn’t see it in the dark, but she was pretty sure you could still see where she had held on to it so tightly.

“This way,” he said, gently bumping her shoulder to make her walk with him. They walked around the greenhouse to the entrance. “Key is up there.” The prince nudged his head to the ridge above the door.

Ylva stood on her toes and felt with her hand until her fingers touched the key. She fumbled it in the keyhole and pushed the door open for them. Loki strode in with purpose, walking to a workbench in the back. It was so dark in here, Ylva could hardly see where she walked. The prince lit a green fire in his hand, holding it above the workbench in search for something. “All right, partner,” he said to Ylva, gesturing her over. “Help me search.”

“Partner?” Ylva asked curiously as she approached the workbench. There was a green flame dancing above Loki’s palm; it wasn’t hot, it was just light.

“My partner in crime,” Loki smirked, bumping her shoulder. “Look for a pin or something.”

Ylva’s brain was a little fried from the combination of mead, teleporting and being manhandled by Loki. Him calling her ‘my partner’ didn’t help at all, even when it was a ‘partner in crime’.

Together they turned over the contents of the workbench until Ylva found a roll of thin metal wire. “Would this work?”

Loki held his flame closer. “Yes, that would do it. Cut some off and twist it so it’s stronger.” He held up a pair of pruning shears for her. Ylva did as he asked and handed Loki the twisted metal pin when she was done. The green light went out when he turned his hands and wriggled the pin in the keyhole of his restraints. Loki grunted a little as he tried to pry the lock open. At one point he lit up another green flame to see what he was doing. His concentrated frown was adorable if you asked Ylva; though it was lucky nobody asked her, she might accidently say it out loud.

Suddenly the lock clicked and the frown on Loki’s face made way for a beautiful smile. The design made it so that Ylva had to help the boy to twist the restraints completely open. They thudded heavily to the ground.

Loki flexed his freed wrists and suddenly squeezed her face between his hands. “You are a wonderful sidekick!” he exclaimed and let go of her face, paying no attention to Ylva’s bewildered state when he grabbed her hand to pull her with him. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

A grinning blond Asgardian prince stopped them in their tracks. Thor had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his feet spread apart. He looked a lot like Odin at that moment, were it not for the shit-eating grin on his face. Behind him, some of his friends spilled into the greenhouse.

“Loki, that’s my little sister you have there,” Fandral said accusingly, coming to stand next to Thor.

Loki shrugged with a smirk, giving Ylva’s hand a squeeze. “So?”

“So, I don’t know what you told her to convince her to help you escape, but I suggest you cut it out right now.” Fandral took a step forward, as if he wanted to grab them.

Thor held out his arm to hold Fandral back. “Don’t overreact, my friend. It’s not such a big deal.” The crown prince grinned and turned his attention back to his younger brother. “I’m sure Loki has been nothing but nice to her.”

Ylva didn’t know what to make of the conversation that played out in front of her. It was kind of hard to think with Loki’s fingers wrapped around her hand. He had not let go of her the entire time, he even rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand like it was perfectly normal for them to hold hands.

What happened outside the greenhouse, that was a lot easier to wrap her mind around. On all four sides there were lights all of a sudden, lights that blurred a little in the glass of the greenhouse, yet she recognised the shine of the Einherjar’s armour well enough. The palace guards probably couldn’t see exactly what happened inside the greenhouse, because it was so dark in here, but they sure had some explaining to do. All of them. Neither of them was supposed to be here in the middle of the night, the palace gardens were a forbidden area after dark. This meant trouble. Ylva’s parents would be so mad!

“The guards are here,” she hissed at Loki, tugging at his hand.

He looked back at her, grinning wide. “Perfect,” the prince said to her, before he turned back to Thor. “Good luck talking yourself out of this, brother!”

Before Ylva could protest Loki pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She only had time to think ‘oh no, not again’ before her body fell one way and her stomach the other way.

They came to a standstill just outside the walls of the palace. Ylva held on to Loki - his fingers buried in his biceps this time - while she tried to push her stomach back to where it belonged.

“You okay?” he asked, sounding less out of breath than the first time. “I think I’m getting better at it.”

“Well, I’m not!” she gasped, pinching his arms as hard as she could. “I still hate it.”

“Not as much as Thor hates having to explain to father why the Einherjar had to pluck him and his friends from the gardens in the middle of the night.” Loki chuckles, his arms loosely around Ylva’s waist. “Breaking and entering in mother’s greenhouse. She’s not gonna like that.”

“Well… thanks for helping me escape then,” Ylva said hesitantly. “Does that make us even?”

Loki smirked. “Sure. We’re partners in crime now, aren’t we?” He moved his arms so his hands rested on her waist. “Think you can stand without falling over now?” Ylva nodded, although she regretted it when Loki stepped back from her. The prince nudged his chin to something behind her. “That’s where you live, isn’t it?”

Ylva turned her head to see the buildings behind her. It was a row of houses angled directly at the palace wall. They were not big, but they had nice gardens and the view down the hill to the village was lovely. “Yeah,” she nodded.

“Thought so,” Loki said with a smile. “Then I’ve properly seen you home. Don’t want to disappoint my mother by having bad manners.” He had the audacity to wink at her before he gave Ylva something she could dream about for months to come. Loki stepped closer and gently kissed her cheek. “See you around, partner.”

***

Thank you for reading! This story is part of my short story collection ‘Muffins’ on Wattpad. You can find me there as @ilse_writes.