Vow
Not for long he knows.
And not for long can he keep it all inward, he wonders if he should. She should know, she should hear how he sees her. She should hear it in words plain and simple ‘I care’, but she knows. And he wonders how she sees him. He wonders, as she lays back, head in his lap, if ever there’d be more, would it last, or would he break them?
The thought needles his heart, he reached draped along her chest an arm, hand light on her shoulder, resumed with the pretense to read, too absorbed in her warmth in her cinnamon scent, the pace of her heart.
She sets her phone down, looks at the tv for some moments, then at him he could feel her eyes and meets them. They stay he wonders what she’s asking of him now, the question in brown soft eyes as his thumb strokes circles on her skin.
In the silence he hears her, so the book in hand fades and she has his full attention. The hand free now burrowed in her hair, other rubbed up and down her arm. Further so fingertips graze the curve of her warm neck, her soft pulse. Her head tilts eyelids flutter, long lashes brush her cheeks and Loki longs, intensely.
He thumbs along her jawline, gaze and face lenify and he lets show, as he traced her clavicle bone, further down, to the tip of a scar where she tensed, eyes then alert, but she doesn’t recoil. There is a somber hesitation on her face, like she wants to say something, or she’s worried he will, as he followed the line down to the rim of the reactor, then back up slowly.
He wants her to know, she should know: “One day,” he says in a voice steady and low, “I will rid you of this piece, when I am stronger. I will make you as strong,” he pressed his palm to her heart. She swallowed, rosy lips part with soft breaths, brown eyes warmed.
He shook his head tells her: “You’re meant for so much more than here, than just Stark or Iron Woman.” Her smile was small but earnest, red heats her freckled cheeks eyes decline, hand reached lay top his, warm and small and Loki held it. She whispered:
“…Just don’t go running off without me.” Loki smiled, gripped her, swore:
“Not a chance.” Her eyes returned, shimmering and warm,
and there was nothing Loki wouldn’t do for her.
She leaned up, shifting to sit on his lap sideways, cradled the base of his head, and easily pressed her lips to his. Easily Loki kissed her, held her hands on her back and waist, pulled her closer. Their mouths moved slow but sure, warm, ever-tender.
They paused, heads pressed breaths mingling, stayed for a minute just there, relieved with the truth, eager for this truth to prevail and remain that they could be this way, finally be this close.
Like they should have been, Toni thinks as she wraps her arms round his neck and perched her head on his shoulder. They should have been, it feels, has felt since the first day and wrong she thought, wrong her thoughts circling back to him over and over, when she was with Patrick, Patrick or whoever before and whoever could have been after, none could come close, nothing could to that moment as Loki’s arms come firmly around her, and he stays.
He has stayed, so consistently, persistently, the better part of all day every day for the past seven months that collectively she has spent more time with him than anyone she’s ever known.
She is often baffled, how the others doubt and question; how can they? Can’t they see how he is perfect? Can’t they see past the past, past mistakes, to a person, so real and reaching…
His arms tighten just and he breathes long. She cradles his head pulls him close, vows she won’t leave him.