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“Would you ever kiss yourself if you had the chance?” Loki asks from beside her.
They’re sitting in the booth again after Loki’s enthusiastic, drunken performance and his rather pathetic metaphor about love being a dagger. Sylvie had taken hold of his collar and pulled him back into the seat in an attempt to reel him in. They were already getting questionable stares before Loki had worsened it exponentially, doubled upon the fact that he’d abandoned his alibi of a uniform. She isn’t sure if they’ll recover their plan to stay hidden in plain sight, but gods, is she trying her damned best to make it so. She shouldn’t have trusted him to contain himself and she shouldn’t have let her guard down enough to fall asleep in such a vulnerable position.
It’s as much her fault as it is his.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sitting right here.”
Sylvie can feel his eyes on her. She underestimated the weight her gaze held upon others. She could never fully understand how it made people submit so easily, but she understands now. Loki’s eyes feel like they’re looking right through her, down to her very soul. It’s both too intimate for comfort and oddly comforting at the same time. She isn’t sure how such contrasts can coexist.
They’re seated side by side, the sides of their bodies pressed against each other from shoulder to thigh, and she can feel the heat of his body pressing into hers, like a brand.
Both of their heads are leaned back against the metal grooves of the booth. The position exposes the column of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s Apple when he swallows, the quiver in his neck when he speaks. She knows because she had been transfixed with the sight before, but she refuses to glance in his direction now.
“I’m asking you, aren’t I?” Loki questions. “Or am I asking me? Which is it?” He pauses in thought. “Doesn’t matter. Would you?”
His head is turned toward her, cordially awaiting a response. She can feel the burn of his gaze as he studies her face. She wonders what he’s thinking about, besides what’s already evident.
Sylvie finally meets his eyes, unable to avoid it any longer. His eyes are curious. “Would you?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.
She’s sure he knows her own answer, but he still found the reason to ask her anyway. And although she is too curious to miss out on such an opportunity, she would not give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Not until he did.
His brows furrow, as if his response is obvious, and it certainly is. “Oh, of course I would,” he replies. “I’m sure you would, too.”
Her lips press into a hard line and she returns her attention to the train car, eyes scanning every figure and face she can spot. There are already too many eyes on them, and someone has surely ratted them out at this point. They’re running on borrowed time.
“Oh, come on!” Loki objects. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“And what if I am?” she asks, turning on him. Her eyes narrow. “That changes nothing.”
It changes everything.
He shrugs. “Sure it does.”
Yes, it did.
She holds his gaze. “How so?”
“Don’t be crass, Sylvie,” he says quietly. The tone of his voice sends her heart into a frenzy. “You know how.”
Sylvie knows he’s right, and she wants to know for herself. She frowns, allowing him a moment of doubt, and turns her attention to the train car once more. More eyes seem to be on them. She notices that one of the men she’d observed before was nowhere to be found. She had turned her eyes on Loki for only seconds, but something had already happened to shift more attention on them. What had it been?
“People don’t like PDA, do they?”
She can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “No, they don’t.”
And then Slyvie sees it, the man that had disappeared appeared once more, this time accompanied by the guard she had enchanted to even get them on this ride. She senses Loki’s attention perking up beside her, the imminent danger chipping at his drunkenness. She’s not in the mood for a fight, she’s just woken up from a hellish nap, for gods’ sakes.
All the more reason.
Fuck it.
“Stay cool,” she whispers.
“It’s gonna be fine,” Loki whispers, but even she can hear the confidence wavering in his voice.
She turns her face toward his. “Well, make sure of it and kiss me,” she demands.
Loki blinks at her for a moment, but then his nose nudges hers, eyes half-lidded, and his lips are brushing against hers, featherlight. He exhales, almost a sigh. And immediately, Sylvie wants to know how much he’s had to drink because he’s drunk, his movements slower than usual, too slow for her patience to remain in place. She groans in annoyance and leans her head forward the final paces. She cocks her head to the right to avoid bumping her headpiece and presses her lips against his. He’s surprised, that much is clear by the rush of breath that escapes him, and a part of her is satisfied that she could manage to catch him off guard.
Maybe it’s the alcohol.
But she hopes it’s not.
His surprise is too sweet for a one time occurance, and she already knows this won’t be the last time they do something like this, excuses or not. It’s too exhilarating, too thrilling to be left to die. And even with his brain and nervous system inhibited by the alcohol, he’s still a damn good kisser.
Perks of a god.
Or the perks of kissing another version of yourself, she adds.
Either works.
Sylvie recognizes a little habit of her own in him. It’s a final, deeper kiss that’s normal enough, but then she feels his hand curve over her shoulder, his thumb pressing against the place just above her collarbone and running over the juncture of her neck. It’s what she usually did when she was about to end a kiss, and it’s far too specific to be mistaken for anything else. And she finds it amusing that they could be so different, yet so similar.
But the kiss has barely begun, and she doesn’t want to cut it short just yet, so she curls her hand against the collar of his shirt and pulls him closer, managing a harder kiss. He responds immediately, accommodating to her course of direction as easy as breathing. And then, it’s as if they fall into stride with that last nudge, both of them in complete and utter understanding. The delight of this new shared comprehension is immediate, and a shiver of excitement shudders up her spine at the possibilities it sets in place. They are in tune, dialed to the same frequency, and she intends to use it.
She imagines he does, too.
Sylvie can taste the alcohol on his lips, bitterness cutting through the sweetness of the kiss. This only encourages her, and he must sense it, too, because his mouth is opening beneath hers at the same moment her tongue is searching for entrance so easily granted. And this is what does it for him, she quickly learns, because she feels the vibration of his groan beneath her hand and against her mouth, quickly swallowed down with another kiss.
Loki had been pleased with a mere glimpse of a kiss before, but now with a taste of it, he can’t seem to get enough of it. She feels his grip on her thigh as he pulls her into him, her front pressed feverishly against his. His hand finds the nape of her neck, subjecting her to a greedy kiss. The gentleness and quiet hesitance is long discarded, replaced instead with a ravenous hunger. His kiss is a burst of chaos. It is a knife’s edge, lips sharp and unyielding against her own.
This time, she’s the one that is stunned. She’s so astounded that a smile breaks across her face because just as she’s able to shake him off balance, he’s able to do the same to her. It makes her heart pound in her chest, anticipating what other thing she can do to shock him, wondering what else he can do to garner the reaction from her. It makes her blood run hot, rushing to a quickened song that matches his own, bodies and lips and limbs given over wholly to elation. It leaves her breathless.
She wants more of it.
And as if on cue, someone clears their throat before them. Sylvie wants to unleash every shred of her enchantment in the room the moment she hears it. And Loki echoes the same sentiment himself and makes an annoyed groan when he feels her hand on his shoulder and she pulls away. Did someone truly have the gall to stroll up to them with their tongues practically down each other’s throats and make their presence known?
It’s a wonder these people have survived thus far.
Sylvie can see how dark Loki’s eyes have become in his desire, pupils wide and dilated. It’s a shame she has to tear her eyes from this wonderful sight. But she tells herself she can manage it. It certainly won’t be the last she’s seen of it, especially not with the way he’d kissed her and clearly not with the way he’s looking at her now. They would pick up where they left off once they got off this damn moon, and no one would interrupt them then.
They’d die if they did.
She steals another moment to look at him before she turns toward the person standing in front of them. But it’s not just one person — it’s four guards in their funky, blue uniforms, and the entire train car, staring blankly and slightly horrified at them.
Sylvie almost laughs.
“Sir,” one of them says, a large, pale man with stark blue eyes, the very same one she’d enchanted. His eyes linger toward her in his peripheral vision, and she smiles at his mortification. “Can I see your tickets?”
She wants to quip a comment about why he’s not asking her this to make him turn beet red on the spot and see the embarrassment bleeding through his body language and words. But she bites her tongue. Another part of her wants to see how Loki handles this because at least she knows that’ll be entertaining enough.
Loki chuckles. “You again,” he greets. “Hello. Um, tickets. Yes, of course. Here they are.”
He holds his hand out, palm up, and miniature fireworks appear out of thin air, the same trick he’d shown her before. She stares at him. This wasn’t going to end well, and they both knew it.
“Oops,” he says. “Still, it looks lovely, doesn’t it?”
But a guard has already stricken forward and taken hold of him, hauling him out of his seat. “Look, is this really necessary?” he continues. “There is a simple explanation…”
The other guard plants a hand on his chest and pushes him, and Sylvie knows there’s no going back now. Loki’s eyes meet hers. “Well, that didn’t work,” he comments, but there is still that lingering smile on his face that tells her everything she needs to know.
She shrugs. “Worth a shot.”
And then they both burst into movement, fighting as one against the guards that lunge toward them, grinning ear to ear in their mischief and chaos.