Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

20 | Manners

They had reached the lounge when Loki declared it time to take a break.

Y/N had left the carton containing Aasta's toffee cake there, on a glass end table by the window, and he must have noticed Y/N's gaze gravitating hungrily to linger on the squared-off corners of the box as if she hoped her eyes could eat through the cardboard.

"We don't have to do this," Loki said after permitting Y/N to move. He'd had her sitting in an armchair, framed by the un-lit fireplace, and had been staring at her intently for about thirty-two seconds.

He'd done this at a few of the more promising poses, and Y/N had quickly realised the amount of time the prince asked her to hold a stance was a good indication of how appealing he found it. Not because he's analysing it---he's not taking in the colours and the tones and the general aura of the scene. It's more like he's...waiting for something to happen.

At first, Y/N had thought he's waiting for her to do something---although she wasn't sure what. But then she realised he's not waiting for her at all, rather, when a pose has potential, Loki thinks that bolt of inspiration might hit, and is just giving it enough time to arrive.

Thirty-two seconds waiting for that eureka-moment was not bad, but there had been a pose---on a sofa back in the library---where Loki had asked Y/N to hold her position for forty-eight seconds.

Y/N hopped happily off the armchair to retrieve some crockery from the tea station, extending her arms over her head until she felt a few joints give a satisfying click. "Do what?"

"The painting. If you're bored---"

"I'm not bored," Y/N cut in quickly, setting the plates down on the end table. They're green, and made of some sort of glass---or perhaps, more likely, crystal---giving them a misty, seafoam sort of transparent look. They remind Y/N of Loki's irises. "Honestly, I enjoy it."

She began freeing the cake slices from their prettily-packaged prison. Aasta always seals each box with twine and a stamp of hot wax, and Y/N enjoys the process of catching the underside with her nail and peeling it off. It looks like a candy itself, soft and shiny and the colour of maple syrup. Y/N has kept each one, just because it feels wrong to throw them away.

Loki pulled a chaise lounge up to where Y/N stood and flopped neatly onto its plush pillows, tucking his legs up below him as though he's folding away a pair of wings. "Are you sure? I keep feeling as though I'm bossing you around."

Y/N wondered briefly about pushing one of the plump armchairs over for herself, but the window seat looked more appealing, the view making up for what it lacked in comfort. She transferred Loki's now loaded plate to his pale hands and settled herself into the little niche in the wall. "You're not. I find it interesting; art is something I never thought I'd witness first hand, let play an active part in."

"Isn't it the working class that makes most of Asgard's furniture, buildings, and instruments?" Loki pointed out, using the end of his finger to wipe up a dribble of toffee from his plate. He popped it in his mouth and he hummed in appreciation.

It made all of Y/N's atoms vibrate.

"I would have thought your family would have a few tile makers or blacksmiths or wood-carvers here and there. Are they not artists?"

Y/N turned this over in her head, then shrugged. "My family is in the lower working class. We don't really make things, we fix what is broken. Mother sews torn clothes for a small sum, and father fixes roofs on buildings."

A few strands of Loki's hair had come loose from being tucked behind his ear, and Y/N wanted to reach out and put them back. Maybe she would have done, had he not been over an arm's reach away.