Darcy stared down at herself, unconvinced. Perhaps choosing this particular dress was a bad call on her part, and she was most definitely regretting her decision to not try it on first.
The problem was, the mannequin in the store didn't have the generous bosom that she had been blessed with -- although at times like this she considered it as more of a curse than a blessing.
The black cord that criss-crossed over the front, was supposed to keep the dress fastened and the wearers' boobs securely contained without exposing too much flesh.
However on her, it wouldn't lace-up as tightly as it was meant to, which meant her cleavage was now very much on display as a result of this plunging 'neckline' and if it dipped any lower, she feared it would be subterranean.
Also, the cord wasn't long enough to tie properly, so as it strained precariously across her chest, she was more than just a bit concerned about everything falling out.
Damn.
Still, there was nothing she could do about it now. She didn't have anything else fancy to wear, and Loki was already on the warpath because of her taking so long to get ready.
Having bought some makeup from one of the boutiques in Camden, she had succeeded in achieving a sexy, sultry look. Her makeover had consisted of contouring Himalayan cheekbones, creating a striking smokey-eye effect using black eyeliner, shadow and lashings of mascara, and the deep red lipgloss accentuated her already full, plump pout.
But it wasn't -- she told herself -- for his benefit. She was just going all-out for the fun of it.
Greg never really approved of her wearing too much makeup, or showing any cleavage.
But Greg wasn't here, and she was suddenly desperate to party it up like she used to, back before she started dating him. Before his opinion and preferences began to mean so much.
Darcy wasn't an attention seeker by any means, and she didn't particularly enjoy men ogling her, but she wouldn't allow their sleaziness to get in the way of her having a good time. And she certainly wouldn't let it stop her from wearing whatever she liked.
She paused for a moment then, wondering when she'd started to absentmindedly dilute certain aspects of her personality just to pacify Greg.
After all, it wasn't as if he made any effort to be more exciting for her.
He had a penchant for navy clothing, and a sensible short back-and-sides haircut. But Darcy had never attempted to change him. She just accepted him the way that he was. So why hadn't he accepted her?
He'd complained so much about her having the occasional social cigarette, she'd quit smoking altogether. And whilst that could easily be argued he was perhaps just generally concerned for her health, the way he used to sniff her clothes for tell-tale signs of smoke, was a bit much. Especially when he'd shout at her if he thought he could detect even the faintest whiff.
And when she had mentioned how much she wanted another tattoo, he had threatened to dump her, claiming that he didn't find tattoos attractive. Which was kind of a dick thing to say, considering Darcy already had an 'Alice In Wonderland' inspired quote, inked on her lower back. And she desperately wanted a lightning strike, or tiger stripes, or something, to cover her.....well. She didn't want to dwell on that right now, it would only put a dampener on her mood.
She was feeling rebellious tonight. And daring. Fuelled by wine and the confidence-boost her makeover had given her.
She was her own woman. And she shouldn't be dictated to.
The fact that she regularly backed down with Greg in order to avoid an argument, was so out of character, and she knew it deep-down. The problem was, she couldn't understand why. All she knew was, that by looking herself over in the mirror now, she needed to reclaim herself. And Greg would just have to suck it up.
Yep. The effects of the alcohol she'd drank over dinner -- not to mention the few glasses of wine she'd had whilst getting ready -- was definitely starting to kick-in.
She often followed this similar train of thought and routine. First came the self-contemplation, followed by an epiphany and rush of conviction. Now she felt ready to take on the world and win.
Alcohol could be a marvellous thing.
"Miss Lewis, is there any chance of leaving before the turn of the next century?" Loki's voice suddenly rang out from beyond the bathroom door. "I'll need another shave at this rate!"
Pushing all her deep thoughts aside, Darcy squared her shoulders and opened the door.
"You mean you actually shave with a razor and don't use magic? Wow. Who knew?" Her words dissolved as she found herself face to face with a very dapper-looking God of Mischief.
From the instant she set eyes on his tall frame, which was at it's best in the high-collared shirt, and well-cut black suit jacket, which fitted snugly across his broad shoulders, she literally felt her jaw go slack.
She continued her silent assessment with increasing excitement. From his lush black hair, smart waistcoat and black trousers that fitted his long legs perfectly, right down to the expensive leather shoes on his feet, she took-in every inch of him....And her mouth practically began to water.
Shit, those trousers. They clung to his legs so lovingly, they were approximately one centimetre away from being obscenely tight.
"Holy shit!" She didn't know if she'd thought or said the words, but in that moment she didn't really care. "You look....frickin' awesome!"
He ran a large hand over his chest with a flair of sensuality that made her slightly weak at the knee, then rested it on his jutting hip bone. "You don't find it a little too ostentatious?"
She shook her head. "Nope. And since when has that bothered you anyway? Seriously. This coming from the guy who wears a gold helmet with huge bendy horns!"
"You leave my horns out of it if you don't mind."
"Hey, I actually really liked your horny look." She confessed without thinking. "They're actually....kinda hot."
His eyebrows shot up animatedly, and she had to suppress a giggle. "Really? How interesting. And what about now? Do you find me equally appealing without the horns?"
She grinned widely and raised her thumbs up right into his face, which made her wonder if the bottle of wine they'd shared hadn't gone to her head more than she'd realised.
"Hell yeah! With or without the horns, you're helluva hot. And if I were single, dude, I'd climb you like a tree!"
Oops. Her mouth was really running off today. But the alcohol was giving her false courage, taking the edge off her inhibitions, and she could feel her cares lifting from her.
"How unfortunate that you aren't single." He drawled.
Sheesh.
Best not to even go there, she thought.
"All joking aside, I do find you very handsome. But enough of you now, L. It's not all about you. How do I look?"
Loki's feral grin had the most disturbing effect on her pulse, as he eyed her intently like a starving wolf eyeing a prime-cut piece of steak. " Miss Lewis, quite simply, you look...."
She bit her lip, eagerly waiting for him to finish his sentence. But it appeared he was struggling to find the right words, which was a first for him.
".....you look utterly ravishing."
Darcy felt a rush of excitement and pride, though she did her best to look unfazed. "Thank you. That's sweet!" She turned away, but then thought she heard him mutter something that worryingly sounded like...
"Nice breasts."
She spun around. "What the hell? Did you just say 'nice breasts'?" She exclaimed, her wide eyes rounding in shock.
"You must have misheard me, I said 'nice dress'." He insisted, feigning innocence. But his aqua eyes were glittering with devilment.
"You damn dirty liar! I can't believe you just said that! I mean, you could think it, but don't say it!"
"Where's the fun in that?" He smirked, eyes dragging over her heaving bosom. "You just told me I'm handsome, I'm merely exchanging compliments."
"Ugh! When you've got a minute do you think maybe you could stop staring at my boobs? My face is up here!" She motioned to her face wildly, irritated that she'd actually mistaken his first compliment for sweetness.
"You have a lovely face, I'm not disputing that. But....now that you come to mention it, you do have a glorious bosom."
"Oh my God!" She cried, and turning on her heel, she headed bathroom-wards. "Right, that's it. I'm getting changed. This dress obviously shows off way too much!"
"Miss Lewis, must you overreact always?" Catching her gently by the wrist, he tugged her back. "There's no need to hide one of your best assets. I meant no offence."
"But I don't want to look slutty!" She argued, resisting him.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation, as he took her other wrist and tried to steer her in the direction of the door. "You look stunning. You're being ridiculous."
"I can't have you staring at my tits all night, space boy! It's....well it feels weird when you do it!"
"Oh please. I won't stare at them all night. The novelty will wear off shortly, once we are out and my attention is diverted elsewhere--"
"Just stop talking now! Stop!"
The disturbing truth was, Darcy found his eyeing her up to be immensely nerve-rattling. His gaze made her feel like he was stripping her bare. No other guy had this effect on her. Knowing that he was brazenly, openly, admiring her body, made her feel jumpy, hot and prickly, but not in an entirely unpleasant way.
To make matters worse, amidst their grappling, the cord on her dress gave up the fight, causing it to burst open. The next thing she knew, Darcy felt cool air, and Loki's heavy gaze, on her breasts, which she was now inadvertently flashing at him.
Mortified, she extricated herself from his clutches, and hastily pulled each part of the material back together in a desperate bid to save her modesty.
"Shit! Look what you've done!" She glared up at Loki, who WAS looking at what he'd done, and wasn't bothering to disguise his leer.
"Oh dear. What a shame." He said dryly. "Here, let me help you."
She held her breath, as his long fingers took the chord and he attempted to reunite both sides of Darcy's dress.
"I got it!" She squeaked, swatting him away so she could readjust it herself. "You've done enough damage!"
Loki threw his head back and groaned. "Don't be so melodramatic. It isn't my fault you chose an impractical dress. Will you please hurry up, it's getting late."
"I didn't think it would be this impractical. But I didn't expect you to be wrestling with me either!"
"Will you desist exaggerating?" He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his imperial nose. "By Odin's beard, if you don't hurry up you'll leave me no other choice than to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here."
That was enough to spur Darcy into moving, double-knotting the cord for good measure, she grabbed her purse. "I'm coming now. Calm your tits!"
Gripping her elbow -- because it seemed Loki was suddenly incapable of keeping his hands to himself -- she found herself hustled out of the apartment.
"No, Miss Lewis. You really need to calm yours, seeing how they are so eager to make a bid for freedom."
"Rude!" She exclaimed, but Loki showed no signs of remorse, on the contrary he seemed to find his humour and offensiveness, highly amusing.
He rather enjoyed playing up to the reputation he'd earned for being the most obnoxious, arrogant, and offensive resident at the Avengers tower.
Not that he needed any encouragement to behave in an obnoxious and completely offensive manner.
Darcy suspected that his offensive manner probably made up about 60% of his alien DNA. So it was very easy to find Loki annoying. But it was also very very easy to appreciate his beauty. Which on this occasion, was the only attribute saving him from being slapped around the face.
When his lips weren't curled in derision, or twisted into a menacing or mocking grin, he still had an angelic, sweet smile. And as they stood by the roadside waiting to hail a cab, he flashed her a spectacularly disarming one.
"Miss Lewis, would you care for my jacket?"
"Why? Is it sick?"
"No. But you might be if you don't take it." He slipped the beautifully bespoke jacket off, and draped it attentively around her shoulders.
"It's fine, honestly. I don't need it." She said, trying not to shiver.
The wind had picked up, and it was notably icy. But accepting his jacket felt so...so intimate. Like they were a couple or something.
Even Greg, who was her actual boyfriend, had never offered Darcy his coat.
"It's only a jacket, Miss Lewis, I'm not proposing that you have my children!"
Unable to refrain from giggling, she pulled it tighter around her, and breathed deeply, inhaling the distinctive scent of him.
"It won't afford much warmth I'm afraid." He pointed out. "But it will prevent you from catching cold on your....chest."
"You were doing so well until you had to bring my chest into it!" Darcy grumbled, shrugging back out of the jacket in annoyance. "There's no chance of me getting cold on my chest, not when your eyes are keeping it warm!"
"Does your temperature rise when I look at you, Miss Lewis?"
"W-what?"
"That would explain your continuous blushing." He teased. "And the way your pupils dilate whenever you look at me."
"Oh, you mean like yours do when you look at me?" She fired back.
"What?" He said falteringly, looking like he'd just been hit in the face with a brick.
There wasn't time to laugh at his expense, as she suddenly spotted a black cab pulling up at the end of the square. Hastily, she threw his jacket back on, deciding that her pride wouldn't keep her warm.
"Come on!" Without hesitation she grabbed him decisively by the hand, and made a dash toward it.
His 6ft+ frame wasn't easy to budge, but fortunately he relented and moved, so they ran for the taxi, hand in hand.
***************
"Miss Lewis, you deliberately deceived me." Loki said with a measured amount of admiration, his keen eyes darting around their surroundings with unveiled fascination.
Darcy shrugged. "Not really. I didn't actually plan on coming here. I had the idea when I remembered this place was around here somewhere."
Indeed, this impromptu stop had not been premeditated. Rather, she had been struck with the impulse when the cab had been stopped at traffic lights, just around the corner from the South Bank. The backstreets looked vaguely familiar to her, so after hastily throwing some money at the driver and jumping from the vehicle, Loki had been forced to follow dutifully.
"Have you been here before?" Loki enquired, as the pair stood side by side in the middle of the small tattoo parlour.
She nodded. "Yeah but not for a tattoo. I was gonna get my belly-button pierced, but I....well, I changed my mind." Her words trailed off.
He tilted his head to one side and looked down at her quizzically. "Why?"
Instinctively stiffening, Darcy blinked, suddenly not eager or wiling to discuss the matter further. "I....I changed my mind that's all. It hurts too much apparently."
"More than the tattooing process?" Loki persisted. "You do already have a tattoo, I presume?"
She nodded distractedly, choosing instead to admire the various tribal designs that were displayed in frames on the walls. Hoping that he'd take the hint and let it drop.
For once, Loki did not harangue her further. Which was surprising as he was inquisitive by nature. But he was also irritatingly perceptive, and something told Darcy that he sensed there was more to the subject than she was letting on, and the fact that he wasn't pushing the discussion, made her breath a sigh of relief.
"What is your tattoo of?" He asked instead.
"Oh, it's a quote...."All the best people are crazy"."
"Show me."
"I can't right now, it's down here." She placed a hand at her lower back. "Maybe I'll show you later."
"I will hold you to that." He grinned slyly.
And there were the butterflies again.
"Uh, when I came here with Ian, it was hilarious." She prattled, in an attempt to divert the subject away from herself, and the swirling sensation in her stomach. "I basically talked him into getting a tattoo, but he changed his mind at the very last second. Seriously...." She laughed. "I thought he was gonna pass out. He went white as a sheet."
"And who is Ian?"
"Ian? Oh, he was like, my intern."
"What do you mean 'like' your intern? Surely he either was or wasn't?"
Darcy sighed deeply. Damn he was so nosey, and why did he have a knack for making simple things so difficult to explain? It was as if suddenly he was asking her questions that she didn't find easy to answer.
"Well, he was my intern."
"And? What more than that?"
She glanced at him, his steady green-blue gaze silently demanding more of an explanation.
"Okay, so he was an intern with benefits." She admitted reluctantly. But his blank expression told her he was still none the wiser. And she found herself silently cursing the cultural/language barrier which led to such awkward conversations.
"It's like a variation of the 'friends with benefits' saying. Which is basically when you're friends with someone, but you're not emotionally attached, so you can have no-strings sex, ya know?"
"No, I don't know." He remarked stonily, his features twitching and flexing in surprise, and then....discomfort. "Admittedly it has been quite some time since I engaged in any form of carnal pleasures with a woman."
Darcy felt her chest tighten unexpectedly, as if he was now sucking all the air out of the room. "R-really? Oh, um, okaaay. Is that because you've been too busy trying to conquer worlds and stuff?"
He smiled wryly. "Not necessarily. One can always find the opportunity for a pleasurable diversion, Miss Lewis."
"So what did you do, take a scared vow of chastity or something?"
"Not all all. I have had my fair share of bed partners in the past. I could choose to be any Asgardian's second choice. But that's not who I am."
Darcy frowned. "Why would you be their second choice?"
He looked slightly saddened now, which was a curious sight to behold. His eyes, his expression, seemed to darken, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. "You must understand, Miss Lewis, no woman has ever had eyes for me in the presence of Thor."
Darcy felt a twinge deep in her chest on his behalf. She could imagine that living in Thor's almighty shadow would be challenging to say the least. But what was wrong with the women in Asgard? Surely they didn't all go for burly blondes? Loki was attractive in his own right. The thought of him having self esteem issues, had never even occurred to her. It didn't seem possible.
She was aware of Thor's popularity. Of the way adoring fans stopped him in the street to take selfies with him. It was something that Jane had found increasingly difficult to deal with.
But now she thought about it impartially, out of the two, Darcy knew deep-down which brother she would pick to have a selfie taken with. If she was a fan girl, it wouldn't be Thor she'd be squeeing over.
"So, don't space women go for the horns and 'real power' thing?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. On the contrary some find it rather appealing. But none of my abilities or attributes prove to be as alluring as brute strength." He folded his arms across his chest. "It became tiresome. And pursing conquests--"
"By that you mean women."
"Yes naturally.....it all grew rather tedious after numerous years." He was looking deep in thought now, as if reassessing his love life. Or maybe his entire life. She couldn't be certain.
And Darcy really didn't want him sharing any sordid details of his sexual exploits. She was blushing ferociously as it was, and she found herself silently praying that the tattoo artist would just hurry up and call her in next. But she couldn't bear to see Loki suffer further rejection either, by telling him she didn't want to hear it.
So she listened as he continued....
"It is my general understanding, that an emotional attachment leads to more fulfilling sex. Anyone can indulge in the act itself, but the experience is far more pleasurable when it is meaningful. Wouldn't you agree?"
Oh hell.
Loki's voice was syrupy-smooth and spellbinding at the best of times, but now he was talking about sex, and in such an abandoned kind of way that it was making Darcy feel all sorts of things. Things that made her squirm. That made her body become heavier, and more languid.
"Um, yeah I guess so." She cleared her throat nervously. "So...how long has it been since you, er, you know...got jiggy with a girl?"
To her secret delight she saw colour beginning to rise in his cheeks. He'd definitely understood what that meant, so at least she was spared from having to explain.
"I must confess, I can't rightly recall." He admitted reluctantly.
"For real? It's seriously been that long you can't even remember?"
"Not off the top of my head, no. But why should that signify?" He demanded, somewhat defensively.
Darcy raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "Of course it's significant. And it explains a hell of a LOT."
"Such as?"
"Such as all that pent-up sexual frustration driving you insane! No wonder you strayed onto the path of evil. Shit. You need to get laid, dude, I'd bet that'll help resolve a shitload of your anger-issues."
Oops.
She hadn't intended to say that. It had just slipped out, and he was looking at her with curious interest. His expression was now equal parts irritation, consternation and -- if she wasn't mistaken -- something that could so easily be described as....arousal.
As if, in spite of himself, he found the notion quite a turn-on. Which gave Darcy a sinful thrill, but the thought of him getting laid by some random, undeserving female -- that wasn't herself -- made her feel more than just a bit sick.
But no, she shouldn't be thinking like that. And he probably wasn't thinking like that. Or if he was, he shouldn't.
He couldn't.
"And....are you offering to assist with my predicament, Miss Lewis?"
Holy, holy crap. Maybe he was thinking like that.
"I never said that." She squeaked.
"So you wouldn't be willing to help find me a suitable candidate for the job?"
"Wait, what? Ew, you make it sound so wrong when you put it that way. But I didn't realise that's what you were saying. Ha! Sorry, at first I though that you meant--"
"I did."
She swallowed hard. Again. "Oh."
Christ, his eyes had been twinkling with malicious mirth but now they darkened and gleamed with lust. His entire body seemed to radiate heat, attraction, and want.
This was bad. Really bad. Whilst being simultaneously, deliciously good.
"Well I can't help you, for obvious reasons. So even if I thought that you were being serious, which I don't, because....well, I just don't believe it's what you'd really want, but even if it was, we...we can't."
He quirked an eyebrow in apparent amusement. Proof, if proof were needed, that he enjoyed pushing her buttons like this.
"Only time will tell." He said ominously, before adding with a wicked grin, "Because I do have a tendency to get what I want."
Thankfully she didn't have to supply him with a suitable response, as a young tattooist, wearing ripped skinny jeans, and a Ramones T.shirt, came out of the back room.
"Sorry about the wait. Do you want to come through?" He gestured for her to follow him into the studio.
Darcy slipped Loki's jacket from around her shoulders and handed it back, then in an attempt to disperse any lingering traces of suppressed sexual tension, she plastered on a huge smile. "Are you getting one?" She beamed, hopefully.
Loki's expression was now one of pure disgust. "Certainly not. Why would I want to deface my body? That would be sacrilegious. It's perfection."
As usual, she wasn't sure if he was being serious or not, but she laughed nonetheless. "But it's all about making memories. And having new experiences. That's why I'm doing it. Because whatever happens in the future, I'll always have my new tattoo to remind me of a really fun, crazy night. That's what life is all about. But I suppose it wouldn't mean the same to you would it? Having such a ridiculously long life. You've probably had way more fun times than this."
She hadn't meant to sound harsh, and it hadn't been intended as a jibe. But is was, she felt, an indisputable fact. Asgardian's longevity and practical immortality, no doubt lessened their experiences and led them to take things for granted.
Humans on the other hand, well, it was their fragility that gave life more meaning.
Shit. She really had to lay off the wine. It was making her think far too deeply about everything.
"Do you know what you want? Have you decided on a design?" The tattoo artist asked, as she giddily took a seat.
"I didn't at first....but...yeah. I think I do now. Do you have a piece of paper?"
Thirty minutes later, and Darcy was thankfully almost done. She hung her head and breathed around the pain, gritting her teeth as each punch of the needle penetrated her skin like a sharp-toothed blood-sucking insect.
She was so relieved for having chosen such a small, simple tattoo, otherwise it would've been impractical having it done now, and also she wouldn't be able to cope with the discomfort, especially as they were supposed to be going on a night out.
"There you go." The tattoo artist smiled, as he angled her arm, which was resting on the pull-out padded armrest of his tattoo chair. He sprayed the tender skin with antibacterial spray, wiped away the smattering of blood, and wrapped a small piece of sterile cling-film around it.
"Thanks. That's awesome." She paid him, and headed back into the waiting area.
And it was only then, as she saw Loki sat patiently waiting on the small leather couch, flipping through a tattered copy of a Tattooing magazine, that the full implications of what she'd just done, hit her.
"Finally." He said in mock-exasperation. "Can we go now before I die of boredom?" He put the magazine down, and his next words struck irrational panic into her heart. "Come here then, let me see this wondrous work of art."
Suddenly he was rounding on her, his movements so fast it was as if she somehow blinked and missed it.
"Uh, no. It's angry and bloody. You can barely see it."
To her horror he responded predictably to the way she suspiciously attempted to hide her left arm behind her back, in a feeble and less than subtle bid to keep it from view.
"Stop being ridiculous, let me see. It's the least you can do after dragging me here and keeping me waiting for an age." He made a grab for her arm, and she wasn't quite fast enough to evade his crazily quick movements.
"Let go, Loki! Before my dress falls apart again! And I swear if it does, there's a hundred different ways I can make your death look like an accident!"
"I highly doubt it." He had her dainty wrist in his large hand now, and she winced slightly. Realising it pained her, his grip loosened, and she fixed her gaze on the middle distance, her small hand instinctively clenching into a fist, as he tilted her wrist around.
There was several heartbeats of silence, save for the buzzing of a tattoo machine coming from another room.
Oh crap.
"Miss, Lewis...." He spoke eventually, his voice cautious and confused. "....what am I looking at?"
She shook her fist as best she could, given that he was holding onto her hand. "The murder weapon in my upcoming trial, after I sucker-punch you in the throat!"
Ignoring her, he brought her arm upwards, so that he could survey the delicate black lettering that now adorned her skin. She glanced at him nervously, his expression was one of dazed surprise. At first she thought perhaps he couldn't read runes, which would account for his confusion, but she doubted it.
He was, to all intents and purposes, a Norse deity, according to Scandinavian folklore. He was ludicrously intelligent. Which made the probability of him not being able to read the runic alphabet highly unlikely.
Unless of course, it was wrong!
She hadn't stopped to think of that.
"It's not wrong is it?" She asked in a small voice, her eyes darting back and forth between the new tattoo and Loki's face. "It should be right. That's Laguz, for the L, and then Othila, for the O..."
"Yes. And Kaunaz...and Isa." He picked up where she'd left off, his voice whisper-soft. "Do you understand the meaning of these symbols, Miss Lewis? Do they mean something......something personal, to you?"
She saw him visibly swallow, and his eyes looked bright with anticipation.
Okay, time to bite the bullet and prepare herself for his ridicule.
But hey, she was no stranger to that, so what did it really matter? Besides, she could just blame it on the booze. After all, she wasn't drunk per say, but she wasn't completely sober either.
"I do know what each symbol means. Why do you ask? D'ya wanna test me on them?" She giggled, a little nervously. He was still staring at her like he was struggling to come to terms with her very existence. "Okaaay... So yeah, Laguz represents water, and fertility, and renewed life....Othila is ancestral, heritage sort of stuff....Kaunaz stands for fire, and knowledge and--"
"But the letters, Miss Lewis." He interrupted her rambling. "Surely you are aware that runes are....letters....above all else. And whilst each has a separate meaning which is symbolic, it was mostly used as an alphabet."
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know."
"So the symbols themselves, don't represent anything specific to you?"
She shook her head. "No. I didn't have it done for the rune meanings, it was for the letters."
"And....and these letters....well, your tattoo spells out 'L.O.K.I."
"Yeah." She said shyly, dipping her head to try and hide from his scrutinising gaze.
"So you've....had my name tattooed onto your wrist?" He didn't sound sarcastic, but genuinely curious, as he peered intently at it.
Sensing that if he didn't ask her the inevitable, he'd most certainly be thinking it, so she decided to supply him with her reasoning before the impending interrogation began.
Because now it was etched into her arm for all the world to see, she could understand how having his name tattooed on her was something intensely personal.
"Look, I know it's crazy. Because it's permanent. Yeah, I've now got your name in runes inked under my skin. But that's the point. It's like a souvenir. A memory." She gave a casual shrug. "It's almost a bit like a joke, a cliché even. You get a bit tipsy and make questionable choices....choices like getting random tattoos on an impulse with your friends."
Slowly, he released her hand, but he still looked visibly shocked. In fact, he looked as though he was actually in shock, like he might have to sit down and be brought a cup of tea with brandy in it.
His eyes slid from the tattoo to her face, and she gulped slightly. Wishing she could crawl inside that irritatingly beautiful head and find out what he was thinking.
"Whatever happens....I will always have this." She found herself smiling at the tattoo a little goofily, the pain endorphins coursing through her blood adding to the effects of the alcohol. "No one can take it away from me. This....this whole trip has been an experience. And I will always look at this and smile, remembering all the times I wanted to beat you to death with a wet fish. But I'll also remember how surprisingly fun it was, hanging out with you in London. And that is what it symbolises." She finished and dared to look at Loki from under her lashes, though she'd avoided his gaze until now.
She had his undivided attention, his gaze fixed on hers, his expression thoughtful and serious. Though a smile softened his features as their eyes locked, and it seemed as if they were having yet another moment.
Time to break the spell, with a quip.
Nudging him playfully she smiled. "You should take it as a compliment you know, I'm like....your number-one fan now."
He cleared his throat. "How quaint. I'm sure you're my one and only fan."
"I hope you're not mad?" She ventured, a little apprehensively.
"No, of course not. I'm actually rather honoured, and just a little stunned. As I'm sure everyone else will be when they see it. You truly are full of surprises, earth girl."
"Yes I am." She agreed proudly. "And it's my choice. My body. You're my friend. And Greg and the others can kiss my ass!"
His brow furrowed instantaneously at the mention of Greg's name. "Miss Lewis, please don't ruin the moment by bringing that buffoon into it."
She laughed then, even though she thought maybe she shouldn't. It hadn't escaped her notice that Loki disliked Greg with a passion. But technically he was still her boyfriend. And he was gonna be seriously pissed.
"Okay, space boy. Whatever you say." She smiled. "I suppose we should get going if we're gonna make the London eye before it gets dark." She pointed expectantly at his jacket, hoping he'd take the hint.
To her immense delight, he did. But as he obligingly slipped out of it, he also began unbuttoning the left cuff on his shirt. Darcy watched as he rolled the sleeve up his sturdy forearm, and the sight had an unexpected effect on her lower body, heating her insides like a furnace.
Without meaning to, she began to envisage running her fingers along his lean, lithe limbs, imagining what it would feel like to have his bare arms embracing her fiercely. To be tangled up in his long, athletic legs....
Okay. That was quite enough of that.
"W-what are you doing?" She managed, forcing all lustful thoughts aside.
Loki sauntered over to the door of the tattooing room, and gave a swift, sharp knock. Even his actions bore all the hallmarks of his aristocratic authority. It was a knock of determination, almost like a command, that suggested he wouldn't allow himself to be ignored, overlooked or kept waiting.
"You are a bad influence on me, Miss Lewis." He said, sounding martyred, but his lips quirked upwards in a secretive smile. "I suppose I ought to be more open to all manner of new experiences whilst I'm here."
A bubble of laughter erupted from somewhere deep inside, and Darcy found herself bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet excitedly. "Oh my god! You're going to get a tattoo? That's awesome! What of?"
He gave her a deliberate look, and in that moment she felt like her heart was going to burst right out of her chest.
"Y-you mean you're.....?"
"Miss Lewis, friends cannot get matching tattoos if only one of them actually has it done. It would appear, you leave me very little choice."
She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a pathetic sounding, "Oh."
The young tattooist reappeared, and happily led Loki into the tattooing room. Seeing Darcy hovering alone, he asked if she wanted to go in with them, to which she readily agreed.
She was then provided with a stool, which she scooted closer to the chair where Loki was sat, so she could get a better look at the artists' handiwork.
It was all so surreal, she could scarcely believe it was happening. The God of Mischief was sat in 'The Jack Of Hearts ' tattoo parlour in London, being inked for the first time ever. And it was her name.
Her name.
It was even on the same wrist, the only difference was Loki asked for the rune letters to be slightly thicker, and therefore more masculine.
Getting the tattoo gun to work on him proved to be less than straightforward, due to his durable skin. The poor young guy had to change the ink, upgrade the size of the needle, and reset the speed of the machine in order to successfully penetrate his otherworldly skin.
As the tattooist worked on Loki, he turned his head to smile at her, at exactly the same time she turned her head to smile at him. And she couldn't stop looking at him. At the visible warmth in his beguiling eyes. His smile.
Darcy leaned in closer to watch the tattoo taking form, curving her body towards him, and shockingly -- because this was all new territory -- Loki casually rested his free hand on her knee, the contact light, but purposeful, as if he enjoyed touching her. And suddenly she was finding it difficult to remember why she shouldn't want to be more than just friends with him.
"So how long have you guys been together?" The artist suddenly asked, which was an easy enough assumption to make, given the fact they were sat so cozy and comfortably together. Not to mention the tattoos of course.
Darcy felt her face heat up, and she almost swallowed her own tongue in her haste to set the record straight.
"Oh, we're not.....I mean we're just..." She fell silent, unable to bring herself to deny that they were an item. Which was crazy. They weren't an item.
But she was now forced to examine the feelings she'd been avoiding.
She liked Loki very much. So much so that 'like' was an entirely inadequate way of describing how she felt about him.
"Our relationship is complicated, but perfectly platonic." Loki supplied evenly, his dark voice doing things to Darcy's nerve endings that weren't remotely platonic.
And she was immediately stung. His declaration hurt even more than the dull throb in her wrist. But then she realised she didn't even know how to define their 'complicated' relationship. It changed from minute to minute. Hour to hour. One minute it felt naturally comfortable being in his company, and the next it was charged with fraught anticipation.
So yeah. Who even knew what this thing between them was?
But Darcy wanted to find out.