Author's Note: Though this is a parallel series to my other story, Natural Selection, and this chapter might be more aptly titled: chapter 8.5, I think anyone could read and enjoy it as a standalone. Maybe. I'm so entrenched, I might not be seeing clearly anymore. You be the judge.

Loki dissolved Jane's current dream as he built her a new one. The location had to be more subtle, something that wouldn't put her on edge. Taking a shower in her room the last time was too abrupt, even for her sleeping and supposedly uninhibited brain. It was entertaining though and, as it turned out, informative.

He enjoyed teasing her, making her uncomfortable, seeing her squirm. What he didn't expect was her arousal. It was a flash of emotion, clouding her eyes and flooding her scent. Then, in the next instant, she had ended the dream.

His own resulting spark of desire was dismissed as excitement that he had unearthed a new secret of hers. Now, he wanted to see exactly what she was hiding and if he was correct in his assumption, to which he most often was, she was repressing this very thing from even herself.

The anticipation had him rushing before he caught his mistake. He'd have to strengthen the illusion he was creating. The fact he had to do so, astounded him. No one had ever broken through one of his expertly crafted spells.

He doubled, then tripled the layers of magic, weaving a tighter net to ensnare his victim. Jane Foster would not escape this one so easily.

Pine trees and snow-capped mountains made up the backdrop, a white expanse of land filled the immediate area, and a gentle night-sky with wavering green and yellow lights completed the simulacrum. The setting was from a memory of his. He'd happened upon it one evening during his travels and thought Jane would enjoy the sight: the aurora borealis.

The illusion was perfect and it was time to add the final piece: the astrophysicist herself.

With a turn of his hand, she appeared as if she were just waking from a deep sleep. She blinked and looked around her.

When her eyes locked onto him, they narrowed into slits of distrust. "Not you again."

"This is your dream, dear Jane, but I must admit you have sparked my curiosity. Why do you keep calling forth my image?" Most people spoke freely in these illusions, unsuspecting of anyone infiltrating their slumbering brains. A part of him—a very small part of him, that is—would enjoy knowing her innermost thoughts.

She looked away, then bent to touch the snow, clearly ignoring his question. "Why don't I feel the cold?"

He gave her a disappointed look. It was better to allow her to think it was a dull-witted question and let her mind accept that it was simply a flawed depiction of Norway than the truth. The lack of an uncomfortable temperature was for that exact reason: he wanted her comfortable and therefore susceptible to his influence.

"I know, I know. It's my dream." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Even here you're a giant ass."

His eyebrows rose on their own before he subdued them. Still, he said nothing. He wanted to observe her for a moment. Get a taste of her mood so he could choose the best course of action.

She patted a small bundle of snow between her hands. "I wonder, though, if this really is my dream." Without hesitation, she hurled the snowball at him.

It hit him square in the chest and exploded on impact. White flakes littered his coat as the rest drifted down to blend in with the others. He could have caught the projectile. He could have made it disappear as soon as it had left her hand. He did neither for a reason.

"Do you really want to start something you cannot finish?" he asked as he formed several snowballs and floated them around his person. He smiled, hoping she did.

"Real Loki would've outmaneuvered me." She turned away from him and looked at the mountains, then up at the sky with barely a glance. "Dream Loki is a poor substitute, just like this setting."

The snowballs fell to the ground. He would show her what a poor substitute he was.

After appearing behind her, he slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her flush to him. The feel of her tender flesh pressed against his frontline, the feel of her soft curves under his hands had him stiff in a heartbeat. An urge to move his hips further into her touch nearly overwhelmed his senses and decimated his control.

His grip loosened as he battled his strange reaction to her. She was a pet, an intriguing mortal, a fleeting fascination. Nothing more.

Then why did he have to temper this odd desire?

She tore out of his surprised hold and spun on him. "Just what is your problem?"

The loss of her warmth had him leaning towards her. He jerked back and stood rigidly, not bothering to offer her an excuse, a lie, or even the truth, for he did not know what had overcome him.

"This is ridiculous. You're just my subconscious brain's attempt to get me to acknowledge my attraction to Real Loki. But it's not going to work because I'm not attracted to him."

She turned away from him again, but this time she walked down the snow-filled valley, grumbling. His hands clenched into fists. He did not like it when she—anyone, he hastily corrected himself—disregarded him.

The God of Mischief appeared directly in front of her. "Are you positive of that assertion?"

He was an unmovable boulder as she stumbled into him and fell backwards. As quick as a striking snake, he caught her. Once more his body responded as their forms connected. This was not truly her, the contact was not real, it was just an illusion, he tried to remind himself.

Her intoxicating proximity clouded his reasoning and allowed his mind to roam free.

He wondered what it would be like to graze his lips over the shell of her ear and down her neck where he'd nip and suckle the tender flesh. He wondered how she'd feel under his hands as he trailed them along her waist and ribs to explore and tease and relish the softness of her breasts. He wondered if her heart would pound with amorous intent or flutter rapidly under his touch, if her breaths would flow heavy and audible or shudder with each gasp.

The throbbing deep in his pelvis pulled him back to the present. He looked down to discover her watching him with curious and bewildered eyes. Her pupils practically consumed the gold-flecked brown irises he'd grown fond of. An alluring shade of pink tinted her cheeks as if she knew where his thoughts had been.

He backed away from her so fast she swayed in his wake. He tore at the webbing of his spell, shredded all the extra layers he now cursed for putting in place to begin with. It was taking too long.

She stepped toward him, her head tilted to the side as if she were solving a puzzle. "Loki?"

The dream vanished and he found his actual physical body just as hard as the imitation. He groaned his discontent.

He'd gone too long since using one of the courtesans. Almost a year, he realized. The exact amount of time he decided to spend every day observing her. This had to be his problem. It had nothing to do with Jane. No, it was a simple matter of repressed sexual energy.

Nothing more.

2nd Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Mischief And Seduction will start to bud flowers that'll grow into lemons as my other story progresses and as their relationship develops. It, however, won't be updated on a regular schedule like Natural Selection. Therefore, hitting the follow button might be ideal.

Also, thank you to my beta, DreamFlight, and my sister who helped me put this together and make it actually work. I'd throw lemons at you (because they're more appropriate and flowers would be expected) but that might hurt. Not taking into account the physical impossibility of such an act due to our great geographical distances of course. :)