An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Loki settles in to academia
18+ ONLY
The stir, and then the commotion, and finally the borderline hysteria caused by the new Master of the Green’s introduction could hardly be termed excitement at all compared to what happened over the following week.
Though the student body of Domdaniel was far from enormous, it seemed to have expanded by multitudes by the morning after the announcement. Suddenly many, many students were eager to change their course of study, eager to join the newly resurrected Green. Paperwork, the bane of all organizations, even those of a magical bent, needed to be filled out in large quantities. Resultantly, the normally somnolent offices of the school were busy for the first time in perhaps a generation, perhaps more, with students thrusting handfuls of badly filled out forms at the two elderly clerks, each of whom broke into tears at least once.
As did any number of the students.
And their various servants, the lesser instructors, and almost everyone working in the tower.
The Senechal expanded her office hours for the first time in anyone’s memory and looked less than happy about it.
Matters only became more chaotic and dramatic when the new Master of the Green announced that he would require a personal interview with each student before accepting them into his department. The outrage that then exploded from all quarters was quite amusing to the only three people in the tower who had any perspective, but to no other. Most often the Masters and Mistresses were in a constant competition for students of such intensity that the idea that he would possibly turn any of them down was scandalous.
That this only made the students more eager to join the Green was painfully predictable.
The Masters and Mistresses of the other departments were all in various stages of fury. Save for the Master of the Black, who was one of those who found the entire thing rather funny, and the Master of the Blue, who had become immediately enthralled by the new Master of the Green and thought anything he did was right, correct, and should be taken up by the rest of the Masters.
Making him the subject of much trenchant gossip.
“I think he would be better off were he literally enthralled,” the Master of the Black murmured to Nye one afternoon when they sat having tea in the smaller faculty retiring room.
She frowned over her cup at them, “What?”
They nodded towards Loki, who had entered closely followed by the Master of the Blue, who was clearly trying to get his attention and failing. The Master of the Black shook their head rather sadly, “Our poor Blue. Ninety-seven years old before having his first infatuation. I’m afraid he’s fallen rather badly for our newest faculty member. I wonder if there is any possibility of reciprocation?”
Dressed in an unrelenting, austere black that seemed to draw all color and light from his surroundings, other than the small, tight pine green band that held his queue in place, Loki walked with his hands clasped against the small of his back. Disapproval oozed from every pore of his long, spare body, and the faint sneer that twisted his thin lips gave frostburn to anyone who might have been enjoying themselves in his presence. Though the mere sight of him made her angry enough - or something enough, she admitted begrudgingly - to burn straight down to ash, Nye admired his commitment to the performance.
Loki was, as she knew better than anyone, a committed sensualist, a decadent, louche sybarite, dedicated to his love for fun and trouble, but he was making a damned good prig.
Having taken a seat, Loki lifted his brow ever so slightly and immediately the Master of the Blue had a full tea service, biscuits, fruit, and a large, copper hasped book on the table before him. Nodding slightly, in a gesture that said, ‘I am as pleased as is possible for you to make me. Considering your inferiority,’ and then lifted a finger to point at the other chair.
The Master of the Blue all but combusted with joy, seating himself, pouring for both of them whilst fidgeting like a small dog that needed to urinate. When he placed a cookie on Loki’s plate, it was greeted with a deep frown. The Master of the Green was not one to indulge himself or others. It was hastily replaced with a few grapes and a wedge of apple.
Nye took too large of a sip, mildly scalding her throat, angry with herself for being angry with the Master of the Blue. It was NOT his fault that he had fallen into Loki’s machinations, or perhaps his bed. Her husband was -
The Prince of Jotunheim was extremely attractive even in his current, deeply stern, mortal masquerade, which gave an impression of possessing an inclination to rest his foot on the back of a willing party. And the Master of the Blue was clearly someone who possessed a longing for stern mastery.
As well as having hungers that made him wish to be little more than a footstool, that had never been fed.
“I am sure I wouldn’t know,” Nye rasped from her singed throat.
The Master of the Black’s eye narrowed, “Would you not?” they asked, looking with a raised brow towards Loki’s table.
“Why would I?” She took too many small cakes, having lost track while loading her plate and not looking at Loki’s table, so Nye popped one in her mouth, chewing a too big mouthful.
“I could tell you that my study of the esoteric forces of creation and the glorious powers of death have gifted me with an ability to see the threads of fate that tie creatures together. And that you and the Master of the Green have a web between you that would make a bark spider envious. Which is entirely true, by the way,” they refilled their cup, adding lemon, “but it is more the way that on the few occasions you have been in the same room he makes a particular effort to seem to not be near you whilst actually being quite close, and you look at him constantly, apparently with no interest, despite his being one of the most interesting events to happen at Domdaniel since your arrival.”
Nye opened her mouth to respond, but they continued, “Additionally, on those same occasions those rooms when you are both in them, are filled with a great many mysterious, undifferentiated energies. I have harvested jars of them. No idea what use they might be, but waste not.”
Though Nye wanted to deny everything, there was no point. Instead, she gulped down the too large mouthful, abrading her already burned throat, and said, “I plan on continuing to treat the Master of the Green as being of no interest until I achieve that lack of interest in fact.”
At least that is what she hoped.
The Master of the Black nodded. “I tried that with the ocean outside of the caverns where the school used to be when I was student here. Was terrified of it, but was determined to put it out of mind. Shame about the flood that happened and all of those deaths. You would have loved it there.”
“I should get back to work,” she stood, folding her napkin and setting it over her empty plate. “The sound of the sun won’t gather itself,” Nye said, still not sure how she was supposed to do that current assignment.
“It doesn’t work with cats, either,” she heard the Master of the Black mutter behind her, “Ignoring them.”
She refused to sigh, though she wanted to.
Loki had to admit that his new office - the first office he’d ever had, actually - was not dreadful despite being made by humans, being on Midgard, and being part of the highly annoying Domdaniel school, a center for learning whose appeal was entirely lost upon him still.
But the office….
The office had a very high ceiling that made it large and airy, excellent acoustics, and a faint scent of flowering herbs, and had windows on two sides, so it overlooked both the sea and the city in the distance. That involved several surprisingly nice bits of magic as those two sites should only have been visible from the other side of the building, and the room itself was entirely interior.
The furniture, he mused to himself whilst looking at the soft roll of the tide as evening fell, was also quite bearable, with each large, piece elaborately carved from black wood, and where applicable, padded with jade green leather. Towering bookshelves, filled bursting, lined the two free walls. A thick, yet nicely worn carpet, scrolled in designs in every shade of green from lime to pine, covered part of the floor, the rest of which was highly polished tile.
Out in the corridor, even through the heavy, copper-bound door, Loki could hear the line of students that had been awaiting his arrival after his introduction. A gratifying number of them seemed keen to study the Green. With a sigh, he supposed he should at least see a few of them before it grew too late.
The servant, Siarl, who came with his new position had managed to bring in a large tray and set it down unnoticed, as he had woolgathered at the window. Most impressive. As was Domdaniel’s commitment to snacking. Most beings who did not practice magic had no idea the amount of energy that one expended on it, though in Loki’s case his seidr was ingrained in him - to the disgust of his parents and the rest of Jotun society - meaning he did not have the same weaknesses, or constant need for food that most practitioners required.
He just liked to eat.
“Siarl?”
“Yes, Master?”
“How many are lined up outside?”
“Thirteen students, seven servants in place of the students they serve who were unable to get away from their current projects, and the Master of the Blue. He has some ideas for a cross-disciplinary working between the Green and the Blue, when you have time.”
As casual as a pair of slippers, Loki asked, “Are any of the students from the Black?”
“No, Master.”
“Tell them I am done taking appointments for the day.” The grey little man, with the sharp, predator eyes, bowed and turned to leave. Loki added, “Make certain the servants - all of the servants, not merely those in line - know that I have already filled most of the seats in the Green. I am, at most, looking for … two more students.”
When Siarl left Loki counted to three, gently swinging a finger back and forth. Even through the sound containing enchantment on the room he could hear the groans of displease.
Knowing he would not be disturbed, he eased out of his shapechange, letting his horns unfurl, his caste marks scroll freely along his blue flesh, and cast a quick spell to keep the cold from creeping out of the chamber.
Pouring a cup of the strong, sweet, rosewater scented coffee that was popular locally and with most of the students in their last year, he seated himself behind the enormous desk, lounging in the gratifyingly throne-like chair. Looking at nothing in particular, Loki wanted to indulge himself in a smirk of satisfaction, but found it would not come.
Nor, it appeared, would Nye.
The coffee was not as good cold, let alone frozen solid in its cup. And the little cakes were now ice cubes. With a sigh, he put it down. Thinking about his wife was always a distraction, and now she’s spoiled his refreshments.
He had expected her every day, flushed with outrage, seething, and heaving and generally furious and magnificent in it, her long hair falling out of whatever arrangement it was in, her gown sticking to her damp flesh. She would demand he leave.
He would refuse. Calmly.
She would approach him, growing more agitated and magnificent by the moment, asking him what he thought he was up to.
He would remind her that it was not at all unusual for a husband to wish to be near his wife. Cooly.
She would slam her hands down on his desk, leaning forward, reminding him that she had wanted to end their relationship, her lovely breasts charmingly on display at such an angle.
He would tell her that he had never agreed to such a thing. Politely.
Loki pushed his hands through his hair, groaning. Now he was erect and irritated, just from thinking about her.
Which was why it made a perfect kind of sense that Nye would choose exactly that moment to enter his chamber unannounced, mouth opened to shout at him, hand raised to make a point.
“This has gone on long enough! There is fighting amongst the students and the Masters! It is one thing to disrupt my education but these people are -”
Halfway across the floor, she finally focused on him. She stopped, a look of concerned confusion on her face, “What are you doing like that? Do you want to get caught? I know you are powerful but I doubt even you could escape the tower unscathed if all of the staff decide you are Djinn.”
Loki gave a hard, ratcheting laugh, “And you would be at the head of the column, no doubt.”
With an annoyed twist to her lips, hands on her hips, Nye shook her head at him.
She was really quite beautiful. Even when he was angry with her.
“Of course not!.” Sitting down on the other side of his desk. “The energy I have learned to create is similar enough to lightning that I could send it down the metal of the stairways, I tested it in a limited way and it will work. Then we could retreat to the roof and you could conjure us some kind of flying machine whilst I held them at the door, which I should be able to do for at least seven minutes. Between our powers and our non-mortal magic resistance we’d survive. I believe.”
As she carefully recited her plan Loki felt a laugh, a real, true laugh, gather within him. Her prim little, “I believe,” forcing it out of him. “That’s quite a good off the cuff plan.”
Nye tried to pour herself a cup of coffee, opened the lid when nothing came out. A snap and point of her finger return it to a piping, liquid state. All of his concerns aside, Loki had to admit that Domdaniel had been excellent for her magic. As she prepared herself a cup she said, “I thought it up the first night you were in residence and have perfected it since them. Every place we go I have assumed that you would do something to raise the ire of our hosts and have come up with an escape plan for both of us as early as possible. This is better coffee than I get,” she added.
Loki stood, walked around the desk, and when her cup was safely set down he took Nye’s elbow, lifted her to her feet and kissed her.
He really had no choice in the matter.
Her lips were warm from the coffee, she tasted of sugar and roses, and he was surprised that there was no resistance in her. Arms loose over his shoulders, mouth soft and open and lax and willing for him to delve in and pull her closer, one hand spread over her back, the other gently holding her head, Nye was willing.
No, he thought, as she tightened those loose arms, stood on her toes, and licked into his mouth with a shuddering moan, she was invested .
“Leave with me now, Nye,” he said into her mouth, as he kissed and kissed and kissed her back. “No last minute escape this time. We can leave by the front door and go to-”
“No. And if you want to keep doing this you will shut up about it now. Or we can fight instead.”
Loki did not want to fight.
Not at that moment, at any rate.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
18+ ONLY!
Sometime Before, On Nachteris, A Planet Within the Realm of Alfheimr. Which Was Perfectly Nice, For What It Was -
Despite what he had said at the start of their search of a school for her, Loki had never intended them to go to Midgard. “It was intended as a joke. Visiting that Realm would be like travelling to the desert when one is interested in swimming. One would have to dig their own pond.”
Sorcery was one of the rarer magical skills and thus one of the most difficult to find a good school for, but the Realms were vast and had a lot of everything if one knew where to look.
Loki knew where to look for everything.
Since leaving VeForêt he had discovered, and he and Nye had visited, eleven so-called schools for sorcery, each of which he had found wanting in some way.
Nye had loved The Pericarp Institute with its lovely grounds and an excellent assortment of magical tomes. However, their wards and security were not good enough to keep Loki from pocketing the complete Quink’s Encyclopedia of Chaos. All ninety-seven volumes.
The current chancellor of Academe d’Achine was a former conquest of Loki’s who not only recognized him immediately, all shapeshifting aside, but gave Nye a look that would chill even a Frost Giant’s blood. They had not even stopped long enough to tour the building.
When they visited The Hesperidium, Nye was impressed by the curriculum, but Loki pointed out it was extremely tiny. As were the closets in its student dormitory. And it had a dormitory that they expected the students to actually live in.
Before Nye could even collect her thoughts on The University of Caryopsis Loki shook his head. The students had to wear uniforms. Hideous uniforms.
The Limonin Seminary was far too large, which seemed like a good thing. Yet Loki refused to believe there were that many burgeoning sorcerers of real promise, so their standards must be painfully low.
Drupes was a good size, had excellent lodgings, and proper security. Nye had rather liked it there, but Loki had raised a brow. “Do you really look forward to millennia of telling people, ‘Yes, I am a graduate of Drupes, ’?”
L’Ecole Midrib had no department of philosophy, and the school colors were kelly green and coral. Loki held a school scarf up between two fingers whilst staring at Nye, one of his brows raised quite high.
When they arrived at The Lycee Albedo there was screaming coming from one of the buildings that everyone pretended not to hear. Skole Etaerio was in Asgardian territory. The Syconium was entirely constructed of wood, which seemed foolishly optimistic.
The Phrontistery of Morus was perfect. Not only did it have no more than thirteen to seventeen students at any given time, each had the services of a private tutor, their own cottage, and an opportunity to design their own curriculum, but the school had no colors - not wanting to stifle anyone’s sense of choice, but they wanted all of the enrollees to come up with a false identity, so there would be no worry of prejudice on the part of the staff.
And their library was multi-dimensional, so they could study the latest advances in other parts of the multiverse.
It was truly perfect.
Except the workrooms have very, very low ceilings.
“Who can be expected to learn what is necessary to bend the primordial forces of chaos and chthonic darkness to their will if they are in constant danger of banging their head on a rafter? It’s not possible. Also, certainly dangerous, both for your delicate cranium and the universe at large. One hard bump and, fwoosh!” He did not stop walking, but flung his long arms dramatically outward, “There are suddenly Eight Realms. Or Ten. Either would be problematic.”
“I am almost a foot shorter than you,” Nye said, using those shorter legs to try and keep up with him as he walked, fast and irritated at yet another failure to find her a proper school, across the school green, towards the very charming and well situated nearby town. “I’ll be the one attending, not you.”
Loki seemed not to hear her, as he continued a steady and ever more creative rant on how it was only by purest luck that the students attending The Phrontistery had not turned whole planets into ice cream, or themselves into rutabagas, or -
Nye stopped listening and tried to at least enjoy the weather. On Alfheim the weather was always beautiful. The sunlight fell gently, dappled by fruited trees. The rain was soft and pleasantly melancholy. The snow was crisp and blanketed the world in a delightful silence.
Which was why there was nothing unusual about the town they were staying in being charming and well-situated, since that was typical of Alfheim as well. Everything was perfect, from the larger than it looked on the outside bookshop to the tiny pastries shaped like playful animals that actually gamboled and skipped about the window of the bakery.
Small, utterly adorable Elf children laughed at their antics and tried to decide what flavors they were. Adding a very tiny touch of the morbid, which Nye for one appreciated.
So it was perfect, but not too perfect, would have been annoying rather quickly, so it was perfect without perfection.
Except for the cobblestones. They were too evenly placed, Nye thought, as they reached the Inn of the Harvest Moon where they had taken a room.
Then Nye stopped dead.
She had genuinely criticised the cobblestones for being too evenly placed. Even if it was only in her own mind it had been a sincere complaint. Also, subconsciously, she had noted that the blue of the shutters on the Inn’s upper window was close to the color of the awnings, but not exactly the same. They needed to either be exactly the same, or different entirely.
Clearly.
Loki had almost reached the door of the inn before he realized Nye had stopped in the middle of the street. Frowning, he stalked back to her, putting a hand under her chin to close her mouth, which she had not noted was hanging open. “What is the trouble, nydelig .”
Nye looked up at him. Loki’s hair was pulled back into a perfect queue, held in place by a pine green ribbon, and he was dressed in the height of Light Elf fashion, a black brocade coat with bell sleeves, a waistcoat of green and gold silk embroidered with fanciful images of serpents and fruit, black silk hose, snowy white linen including an overflowing neckcloth, and leather riding boots.
Every bit of him was both splendid and ideal, even down to the one errant bit of coal-black hair that blew gently on a breeze that he had conjured for that purpose.
Conjured without needing a spell, because Loki did not do magic. He was magic.
Not knowing how to tell him that she had caught his standards, and that because she was not him, Nye could not live up to them. Instead, she mumbled something about the cobblestones.
Putting his hands to his narrow hips, he looked down, nodding to himself, “Yes, I noticed them too. What a shame. Come, let us go in, where we won’t have to look at them.” Taking her arm, he led her into the common room of the inn, ordering a flagon of wine, a basket of stone fruits, and lavender shortbread. Taking one of the glasses Loki filled, Nye fiddled with the stem, only half listening as he talked about where they would try next.
“I think I could live with the ceilings,” Nye said, dipping the shortbread in her wine and taking a firm bite. “I am going to accept the place here.”
Loki stopped cutting into a plum and took up his glass, for a moment looked genuinely shocked, opening and closing his mouth a few times, flummoxed and uncertain. Nye loved those moments when he was like this, liked any of the moments when she knew he was not performing being himself but simply was. Confusion opened the puzzle-box he was, if only for a few moments.
So did passion, and helpless laughter.
Then he caught himself. Leaning an elbow on the table, Loki let his glass dangle from his fingertips, “I know we can do better. It’s early days. To make a precipitous choice on such an important matter smacks of impatience. Your gifts will not go to waste, not stale, if we take a little more time to ensure excellence. After all, I want nothing but the ideal for my wife.”
Then he smirked, and Nye knew that nothing would ever be excellent enough for Loki, and he wouldn’t let anything be good enough for her.
Or rather, for his wife.
They were seated close to the fireplace which danced with multicolored flames and gave off cool air as it was summer. Other than one Dark Elf female who sat near the windows, drinking tea and writing in a small book they had the common room to themselves. The flagstones were a pale, green-grey, and the wood was polished with bees’ wax, leaving a faint scent of honey behind.
The Dark Elf must have been a student at The Phrontistery. Holding the book open on her palm, she nodded slightly and several of the pages twisted and turned, becoming a tiny figure of a man who started speaking quietly in Svartalfheimran, explaining what had just been read from it.
That could be her, having this comfortable inn to visit to study whilst drinking blackberry ale, making notes, creating homunculi as a study aide…
She tried one more time.
“I am not certain that we could. Find anything more suitable, that is. I think The Phrontistery would be more than suitable. It would utterly suit me.”
“That is too bad,” Loki gave a parody of a disappointed frown. “I had already explained to the Provost that we were continuing our search. They were most disappointed, but understood. Perhaps if nothing else appeals before this time next year we can revisit.”
For a few moments, they simply looked at each other. Nye gave up. She wasn’t even angry. There would be no point.
Loki now frowned in sincerity, clearly disappointed that he would not have an opportunity to persuade her.
Finishing her shortbread, she reached for an aprium.
“Allow me,” Loki took it from her, letting the velvety nap of its skin trace over her palm, then lounging against the high, leather back of the chair. Looking at her, his poison green eyes lazy, he cut into the pale, pink and orange flesh with a sharp thumbnail.
A little nectar, sweet and heady, rolled slowly down his thumb. Still holding her eyes, he lifted his hand and leisurely drew the side of it through his open lips, wetting them with the juice, which he licked away while he split the fruit wide open, with a wet, ripe sound.
Nye knew what he was doing. Which made it no less effective. By the time he offered the aprium back to her on an open palm pooled with more juice, she was aching between her legs and equally as wet.
As she reached to take it from him, he moved snake-quick past her hand, holding the fruit to her lips, balanced on the tips of his fingers now.
“I can feed myself, thank you.”
She tried to swipe it from him, but he gracefully dodged her grasp, so it was now clutched in his elegant fingers, squeezing a little so a sweet drop slipped into her mouth. Somehow, whilst playing with it, Loki had transformed that nectar into something more potent, intoxicating if not an intoxicant, sending shudders of heat through her body.
For their travels, Nye had insisted on separate accommodations. Having been raised as part of a foolishly large family, privacy was her greatest luxury then and she was not willing to give it up. Loki had always been used to a great deal of privacy, so she assumed he felt the same way, though for different reasons.
Entering his room, her knees locked to his sides as much as they could be in the rather narrow dress she was wearing, his arm about her waist to hold her up, Nye noticed something, giving his hair a good tug to get him to stop, “Your room is immense! It’s twice the size of mine at least. The bed! I’ve seen operas performed on stages smaller than that bed! When you arranged for the rooms you said that ours were comparable!”
“As you mentioned yourself, I am rather larger than you, wife,” he said in a most unapologetic tone, one corner of his mouth lifting most roguishly, as he kicked the door closed and then slammed her back into it so they were too close to do anything but kiss, and kiss again. Their mouths were wild, and his hands were in her hair, and she was pulling off that perfect, snowy white neckcloth to bite where his pulse was going wild and then suck.
Rewarded with a guttural moan, Nye managed to work one of her hands under his coat and waistcoat, snagging the fine linen of his shirt and with a touch of seidr made it even thinner and finer so she could rip it easily, scratching his back, his chest, his sides.
Loki’s back arched in pleasure, and in turn he slid her down his body, her skirt disappearing so her stockinged legs spread over his thigh, her sopping sex firm against the ridge of muscle there, soaking through the suede breeches. Nye rocked herself on him, lovely jolts of pleasure, each a shade less than what would make her come, her legs shaking, assaulting his mouth again, thrusting her tongue in time with her rocks, so she whined with each sweet little almost.
“You have never been so wild, nydelig,” his voice was deeper, rougher. His skin turned blue beneath her touch, his horns spiralled high and proud.
Nye had nothing to say to that, nothing she wanted to say. She wanted him to fuck her and nothing else. Reaching up she took one of his hands and pulled it down between her sex and his thigh, now riding it, rubbing herself against it as he whispered delicious vulgarities into her ear. “Do you want my fingers in you? I think you need them, you would be begging me for them were your mouth not so delightfully occupied… there…” he breathed out as she lifted just enough for him to enter her with two fingers, twisted together, hooked and stroking at places that made her pulse, her cunt beating like a frightened heart, trying to pull them further.
His free hand pushed at her shoulder, pinning her against the door, his seidr wrapping about her arms so they were likewise pinned back, so she could only hang over his leg and let him do what he would. The smirk he gave her should have made her angry, but rather, something about its disinterested amusement at her state made her ache more. Want more. When his thumb strummed so very lightly over her clit she nearly came.
It wasn’t enough.
He did it again and again, barely touching her there, as he fucked her harder and harder with his fingers, until she was babbling and begging.
Biting his lip, cocking his head, only the deep darkness of his caste marks and the thick, painfully hard bar of his cock against her knee showing any signs that he was still aroused.
Then, with a motion she could barely see, the seidr was gone, his hand gone, and he had spun her again, falling onto the massive bed with her, slithered down her body, and shredding the seam of her pantaloons with a shriek of murdered silk, preen his horns against her. Grabbing them, Nye worked herself against their spirals and minute ridges, one of her feet on his shoulder, the other on the mattress, her needing climbing, the jolts of pleasure now those of desperation, feeling almost too good, feeling too much, until she came, pulling herself up by those horns, convulsing, wanting to lock her legs together to ride out the pleasure.
Rather, Loki split her legs and licked, the flattest, widest part of his tongue lapping and lapping through the orgasm and into another one, leaving her limp and helpless when he crawled back up, sliding his cock into her still pulsing and hungry cunt.
The thickness of him, even now, even when she was lax and ready, stretched and fed into her and made her want to weep.
Nye could only wrap herself about Loki, one leg about one of his, the other at his waist, one arm around his back, the other hand tangled in his hair with her fingertips proprietarily on the base of a horn. He entwined her as well, arm beneath her, the other pulling her closer, his face buried in her neck with his hips scooping and thrusting, but shallowly, as if he could not bear to be out of her more than an inch or two.
A tremble worked its way through Loki’s long muscles, as he tried to hold himself off, clearly wanting to wring another orgasm from her, but her excitement, her desire, and now the way she clung to him, as if she could not let go seemed as overwhelming to him as he always was to her.
One last, grinding thrust, and Nye found her cunt convulsing around him, as they came at the same moment, Loki burying his face into the pillow beside her head to hide whatever he had been about to shout.
The sun that had been warming his chamber, casting sunlight across his bed, had sunk enough that its lack woke Loki.
Stretching, with what he was certain was a smug smile on his face, he rolled over to awaken his wife with a nuzzle and perhaps some tender ministrations to her certainly raw and precious -
Nye was gone.
Falling back, he gave himself a laugh. “I must be losing my touch if she woke already.” Nye loved her sleep and it took much to seduce her from it. Putting his hands behind his head, that smug smile still on his face, he wondered where they should go next. The dwarves mostly used their magic to purely mechanical purposes, but few creatures knew more about the elemental truths of the universe.
It was a few moments later, when perhaps shifting his weight, or scratching an embarrassingly placed itch, something crinkled under his behind. Frowning, he reached down and pulled out an envelope, with his name in Nye’s lovely, so familiar hand.
Opening it he read, his frown turning into a scowl, then a growl, before disappearing, leaving his face smooth, disinterested, and even cold.
Though not as cold as The Phrontistery of Morus, the charming little town nearest it, and the countryside for some miles around, had suffered from the worst winter in its history, made far worse by its occurrence at the height of summer.
The Mystical School of Domdaniel, some time later-
Nye stopped herself from stepping backward again. Instead she crossed her arms, “No, I don’t think so.”
Loki frowned, “You don’t think what?”
The blankets had slipped a bit, and Nye had to look past him to keep from looking too closely at him. “I don’t think I have anything further to say. Conversations between us are never really that. They are you speaking, and then ignoring me. Please dress and leave before I have to explain your presence to anyone. I have work to do.” At the door she turned on her heel and added, “Leave where I can find you and when I have time I will contact you. We still need to discuss our annulment.”
There were hundreds of creatures throughout the Realms who would have given fortunes, years of their lives, anything, to have seen the look on Loki’s face at that moment. Sadly, even Nye missed it, having turned back to the door and exited with firm and steady steps that lasted her until she was down the hall and around a corner where she leaned heavily on the wall, a hand pressed to her heaving heart.
Forever is not promised. We're not sure if we're here to stay. We did and felt things we've never even knew existed. Stranger things have happened, i wanted to be with you. Only with you. Being with you was like being with myself, only times two. We were so much alike. So much the same. We never thought of letting go, i wouldn't want to let myself go, not when i'm having so much fun. Living with it every moment was beyond heaven. Beyond the happiness i've ever hoped for, beyond the fantasy i've ever wished for. Dreaming of you by night, being with you by day made my smile stay on plastered, never leaving. We have invested so much time being together that i realized i am you. In a way, you were me too. From the moment we said Hello, our eyes met, we knew the moment we'd say Goodbye would be the moment we'd close our eyes for our eternal rest.
