Mischief's Lover

Warning: Explicit Content

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Prompt #8 'Moonlight'

223 Cavendish Square, 10th September, 1889

Gwen stirred, blinking as her eyes opened. Her bedroom was dark, the candles long snuffed out.

The only light in the room was a shaft of moonlight bisecting the bed, and she guessed that was what had woken her. It swept across her body, draped in the sheets from her waist down, the rest…

Covered by pale, hard male.

Memory returned, and if she had been the blushing type, she would have been tomato red. But instead, the images rushing across the surface of her mind just made her breath hitch, as she glanced over her shoulder at the inhuman creature who lay beside her, one arm over her waist.

He looked so…human, lying beside her. His face was smoothed of all cunning or mischief, and it sent a surge of tenderness through Gwen that terrified her.

She couldn't. She mustn't.

Feeling suddenly stifled, Gwen tore her gaze away and did her best to slide away from under his arm without waking him.

It was imperative he did not. If he awoke, then he would fulfil the second half of his promise, and while Gwen desired it with all her rebellious heart, she didn't think her heart was ready for it just yet.

She needed time to readjust, to reorient, and find her calm again after that shattering moment with him, sunk deep in her bed, his body hard inside of hers. Just the memory of it was enough to send her shivering with remembered pleasure.

Her lover stirred but did not wake, as she glanced around for her nightgown. It had disappeared, but Gwen glimpsed her robe lying on the floor, and silently snatched it up, sliding it on. She did not know why, but just as she felt the need to stand apart from her lover, she needed to feel covered.

Her certainties had been stripped from her. As she crossed to the window seat and looked out, opening the curtain a little more so she could look out at the gardens, drowned in sylvan moonlight, she cursed herself inwardly. How could she have been so stupid?

To think she deluded herself into believing she could ignore that, ignore the intimacy, the soul-joining force of it? She was a damned fool.

She could only plead ignorance. All she had known, read or overheard had made the act seem transitory, little more than a sharing of bodies for mutual pleasure, and sometimes not even that. No emotion, no convulsions of the soul.

This could not be the same for all women. She was fairly certain not every woman, or more likely no woman, felt this the first time she shared her body with another.

She shook herself a moment later. Regardless of whatever had occurred, she refused to think of it. She had a life, a comfortable one, and she was needed by her father. He too had a life, and she had no idea that he had felt anything out of the ordinary in their interlude. Whatever she thought, whatever she felt, it meant nothing. It could mean nothing.

Loki watched her from the bed, disturbed from the warmth of sleep the moment she had left his side. She knelt, body shrouded by her robe, on the window seat, gazing out at the night, her form outlined by the moonlight, silvering her auburn hair.

She was troubled; he could see it in her face, in the reflection of the glass. Reminded of her sadness when he first entered her bedchamber, he felt something inside him sink. She was his lover, his responsibility.

She should be relaxed, sated and eager for more, in his arms, now. Instead she was sad, tense with some inner pain.

Well, they couldn't have that.

With an anticipatory grin, he slipped silently from the bed, until he stood behind her, inhaling the scent of her hair as she started, then tensed even more.

"I know you are troubled, Gwen," he breathed against her neck. "I saw it in your face when I came here. Do not try to lie to me."

Gwen shuddered, closing her eyes. She would never tell him that the causes of her pain were the foolish wishes of her own heart, but he would settle for little else. Telling him of her father's illness would do no harm.

"I worry for my father," she murmured, finally. "His health is failing and there is little I can do to stop it. I suppose that seems trivial to an immortal."

"If something pains you, sweetling, then it is never trivial," he whispered, sliding his arms around her waist, feeling her body relax against him. Gwen sucked in a breath against the sudden pressure in her chest and eyes at his words, so deceptively soft. "What is it exactly that ails him?"

She shrugged. "Old age, I'm afraid," she replied quietly. "I doubt there is anything even one such as you could do."

"Do mine ears deceive me or was that sounding dangerously like respect in your tone?" he asked jokingly. When that did not elicit the response he had hoped, he sobered and gently caressed her waist through the robe. "Unfortunately, not even my power can halt the inevitable."

"I know, and I wouldn't ask it of you," Gwen breathed, as his lips brushed her temple, nudging aside a curl.

"Your thoughts grow dark, Gwen," Loki murmured against her ear. "There is far more pleasure to be experienced tonight rather than wallowing in grief for something that is yet to happen."

Gwen smiled, still a touch sadly, as she felt his lips place a trail of warm kisses down her neck. She tilted it sideways, feeling a pleasant tug of warmth in the pit of her stomach, growing with every press of his mouth. "I do believe you still have a promise to keep, my Prince."

"Yes, I do but patience, my sweetling," he purred in her ear. "That will come soon enough. For now, just enjoy what I can give you, my Gwen, before we move on to darker pleasures."

Gwen shivered when she felt the sash of her robe tighten and then release, as Loki's hands spread over the width of her waist. "Like this?" she hissed, glancing over her shoulder at him, his austere features seemingly set in alabaster where the moonlight hit them, as he pressed himself against her back, through the silk of her robe. The drapes opened fully, and she gasped.

"Fear not, Gwen," he whispered in her ear, dark and as irresistible as sin. "No one will see you, no one will hear you. Just savour the feel of the darkness, of the moonlight on your skin."

Loki's hands swiftly dropped from her waist to her hips, sliding languorously over her hipbones, sweeping aside the silken robe, pulling the back up and over the globes of her bottom, as he gently but firmly coaxed her legs apart.

"Put your arm around my neck," he told her heatedly, as she leaned back and into his embrace. Unease flickered as she contemplated the uncovered window, knowing that anyone in the garden could see them, like this, so utterly compromised and exposed. Not that anyone should be the gardens at this time of night, but she still felt the vulnerability. "Relax, dearest," Loki's voice in her ear, warm breath washing over her neck, as his hands roamed her swiftly heating body. "I would never allow anyone to see you like this, other than myself."

"Glad to hear it," she gasped, as his hand trailed down her abdomen, before curling under and into her. She rocked her hips against the pressure inside, a smile breaking over her lips as she closed her eyes and let herself relax.

Her nails scrapped through the curls at the nape of his neck, as Loki shuddered, relishing every silken slide of his finger into her, adding another as she gasped and whimpered in his arms. Her reticence faded again, and she rocked harder, glorious in her abandon.

He could see her reflection in the panes of glass in front of them. He watched his own fingers slowly disappear and pull out of her with every rock of her hips and movement of his hand. Her hand, the one not clamped onto his neck, had fallen back and now clasped his thigh, flexing over the tense muscle, her nails lightly scratching him.

He was slightly surprised by the abandon in her body, her eyes closed in ecstasy. He rocked his hips into her, need turning his body to steel, as he felt her moist warmth teasingly close. Only a slightly readjustment and he could be inside her.

Gwen felt him, so close, frustratingly so, as she felt the tension inside her begin to well and overwhelm her. The cushion of the window seat beneath her knees chafed her skin, as she rocked herself against his fingers and his body, hard and hot against her moist folds.

As before, she had almost no power, no control in this position. She couldn't kiss her lover, or touch him beyond the contact he allowed her and her hand on his thigh. The pressure inside her wasn't enough, she needed more. She needed him.

"Loki, please," she gasped. "Enough teasing."

"Yes, my lady!" he growled mockingly, his eyes raking over her moonlight shrouded form possessively. He nudged her legs open further, and took his hands away, trailing them over her abdomen to her hips, leaving a trail of heated wetness behind. Gwen shuddered and pressed back against him.

With a roll of his hips, Loki slid inside of her, holding her firmly by her hips. Aware of the ache she must be experiencing, from their previous activities, he was gentle; rolling shallowly into her, keeping her close so there was only minimal friction. He lowered his hand to the apex of her thighs, carefully tracing and caressing until she was panting wildly in his embrace.

Gwen quickly worked out how to rise and fall with his rhythm, her body tight around his, deep inside. Her hand rose from his thigh to clasp his hand on her stomach, holding tightly as his hand shifted and shifted beneath her palm.

The mark on her neck began to burn, as the pressure inside her built and built, fed by the body thrusting steadily into hers, the hand gently teasing her wet folds and the other slowly rising, beneath her own, to splay over the mound of her breast. She was overwhelmed, completely immersed in the sensations, blind to the way she looked in her reflection, in the panes of the window.

Loki was not, as he kept his eyes open, fixed on her body writhing and undulating in his arms, so very his and unaware of it. The rhythm of his hips began to falter, as his own body begged for release, wound tighter than a bowstring, teased by the very rhythm he had created for them.

Her moans grew louder and hoarser, and he buried his own face against her neck, stifling his groans, the roll of his hips and the caress of his fingers becoming harder, harsher, seeking the end, no longer so concerned with abrading her sensitive, still untried flesh, and she begged him for it. He held her to him, in a punishing hold, so she couldn't move, and was prisoner to his will as he thrust deeply into her. She cried out as his fingers glided over her wet centre one last time, and he felt her climax deep within, washing over him in waves, coaxing his own release until he too cried out, blindly finding her mouth and drowning his final cry in her mouth.

They panted, their breath syncopated, as they clung to each other, their bodies aching sensitive as he gently slid from her, and she felt herself slump back, truly exhausted. He had tried her enough tonight.

Feeling tenderness well, he cradled her in his arms, returning her to the bed and making sure she was well-covered as she shifted restlessly in exhausted stupor, and stepped back. The moonlight covered her form, and he watched her intently for a few moments, until with a flick of his hand, the drapes closed once more and the room plunged into darkness.

He dressed by magic, and then approached the bed, leaning over his lover. He could smell himself on her, and it pleased. She would not forget this night, and soon he would return.

With a smile, he turned away. Oh yes, he would return very soon indeed…

To be continued…