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Her slap leaves a faint red mark on his pale, pale cheek, and it’s indelible as it is ephemeral, stinging, pulsing, shaking him to the core.
She’s got some nerve, some fire (for a Midgardian), and the thought brings a smile to his lips.
It’s a sickening smile, serpentine and self-aware, and he bites back a chuckle as she stares at him in disbelief.
He could kill her so easily, so easily. She would evaporate in an instant, and yet-he doesn’t summon his mind-bending staff or his handfuls of green lightning.
Instead, he stands perfectly still, still as a tuning fork, and the air is alive with the reverberations of her voice and the annoying click of her heels against the Asgardian tiles.
Her heartbeat is thin and reedy, but it’s persistent, wild like a hummingbird, and she looks like one too, a tiny ball of energy trapped in a marble cage.
“Calm down, love,” he laughs, and she raises her hand to strike him again.
He catches her wrist midair and gives it a light jerk.
He doesn’t want to hurt her, but her face twists in agony, and Loki curses his own strength.
He flicks a tongue across his lips and gives a soft sibilant laugh as he drops his head to her height.
A curtain of dark hair falls over his face and brushes her shoulder.
It surrounds them like the sheet around a canopy bed, and Loki grins at the analogy.
“I would warn you, Midgardian, but I’m sure that you know what I’m capable of,” he hisses, pressing one finger against her pulse.
There’s a crunching noise, and Jane’s eyes widen as he presses his lips to her ear.
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.” He pauses, and he can hear the air around them buzzing with tension and the most delicious of all human emotions: fear.
“However, if you attempt to strike me ever again, then there will be consequences.”
His voice drops an octave, and he can feel Jane shudder at his touch.
“Let go of me,” she spits.
Loki grabs the back of her head and threads his fingers through her hair.
“Louder, Midgardian.”
“LET GO OF ME!” she screams, and Loki relents.
Her breath is coming in quick, heaving gasps, and he can’t help but smile.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he growls dismissively.
Jane looks up at him, and their eyes lock in a cold, cold stare before she drops her gaze and turns away.
Then, out of the blue, she delivers a swift, angry kick to Loki’s shin, and his eyes widen in surprise.
“You never said anything about kicking you,” Jane says quietly.
Loki is speechless, but he recovers quickly with a derisive chuckle.
“If you ever wish to continue this game, then I could find us a setting that’s a little more private,” he begins, but Jane throws a hand in his face.
“Save it, freak. You’re not my type.”
Loki raises an eyebrow as the brunette scowls in disgust and storms off.
“Peculiar creature,” he murmurs, bending to reveal the faint red mark on his shin, and it mirrors the decidedly pleasant sting of her tiny hand print on his cheek.
"Let's play again soon, Jane," he whispers, but she is long gone.
End.