Author Note: Hello, dear readers. Thank you all for the warm welcome back. As always, the reviews are so appreciated. They give me a reason to keep writing. Please keep them coming.

After seeing Thor 2, I now know exactly where I want to take this AU. I promise you are all going to love it.

Anyway, the song for this chapter is "Just One Yesterday" by Fall Out Boy.

"What the hell happened here?" Heather's question hung in the air, made the three men shift uncomfortably.

Bruce pulled the sheet a little tighter around his shoulders before stepping forward to respond. "Don't get mad."

"We're a little past that."

"Don't be like that," Tony huffed, stepping between Bruce and Heather. The last thing the scientist needed was more stress after he had just recovered from another episode. "Loki got in…I'm not really sure how."

Suddenly Heather's gut turned. She saw the way the bedsheets were mussed, the dent in the wall.

"Where's Alice?" she whispered, already knowing and dreading the answer.

"We don't know," Tony said at length. "But JARVIS is trying…"

"YOU LET HIM TAKE HER?" Though she hadn't meant to yell, it did make her feel marginally better. Yet fear was still pouring into her limbs, the terrified shaking beginning to wrack her body. Alice was gone, probably dead at the hands of the angry go. After Stuttgart, Heather knew full well what that monster was capable of.

"We didn't /let/ him do anything," Bruce pointed out. It was a weak argument and the look she threw at him was enough to dismiss it.

"What happened? I mean, did he seem angry? Do you think he hurt her?"

"I wouldn't say angry," Tony tried to lie. Naturally, the girl didn't buy it.

Heather caught sight of Thor, who was standing a ways away from the others. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between the conversation and the small black marks on the floor by his feet.

"What about you, big guy? He's your brother. What do you think?"

Anxiously the god looked back up at her. The look in his eyes betrayed his dread.

"I do not know what my brother has done with the mortal girl Alice," he replied. "But I fear that his intentions may have been malicious."

"May have been?" She couldn't help snorting in disbelief. "Just how thick are you? If he came here to kidnap her, I feel like it's pretty obvious that he's up to no good."

"We don't know that," Bruce sighed, but Tony was rolling his eyes before he even finished the thought.

"She didn't exactly look like she was going willingly," the billionaire snapped.

Again, Heather's heart sank. She knew, probably better than anyone, that Alice was full of fight when put in the right situation. But against an angry Asgardian, all the fight the little red head had in her was practically useless.

"What should we do?" she asked.

Silence hung in the air, none of the so-called superheroes quite sure how to answer.

Bruce was the first to speak up, though he seemed hesitant to do so. "The only thing we can do is wait."

Though Heather hated the answer, felt with every fiber of her being that it was unacceptable, she knew it was the best she was going to get.

Icy tendrils of night air dug into Loki's lungs the moment he stepped onto the balcony. Chicago's infamous cold breeze was gusting specs of snow across the sky. It did little to ease his mind as he had hoped it would.

Had he been honest with himself, he would have seen that it was a lost cause. Rescuing the mortal girl had not been in the cards. Her offering to help him had been far from his expectation. Kissing her had been farther still.

To be fair, she had been the one to press her lips to his. But he had kissed her first. He had wanted it. Some deep twisted part of his mind had enjoyed it. Would have liked it to last longer.

Frustrated, her gripped the railing of his former self's balcony. Enjoyed the way the cold steel bit at his flesh.

What the hell had he been thinking? He should have let the concussion kill her. Should have watched her suffer and enjoyed it. But he didn't. Her death would have only caused him suffering.

His past life, his mortal life, still hung over his head like a waiting noose. If he let it grip him too tight it would kill him, snap his will to live as he was now. The memories of that life were vague and blurred. Scenes played out in his mind as though they were a movie he'd seen, but the emotions attached to those moments were enough to drown him.

It was especially bad when he was around Alice. When she had been in New York the memories had began to dull, but bringing her back had tripped the wire again. Now that she was with him, the memories were more vivid, the emotions more powerful.

That night when he had kissed her it was to sate the craving for the taste of her skin. But it had only made it worse. He still wanted her. To taste her, breathe her in, smother her in kisses and allow her flesh to consume him.

He needed to get away from her, as far away as possible. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not quite yet. Especially with his former-self having such a hard time letting go.

Besides, she had agreed to help him, to get him home. At least, get him off Earth. And if she thought herself clever enough to do so, he was willing to let her. Perhaps her death would not be necessary after all.

After all, if she could be of use to him, then there was no point in killing her. Her willingness to help him could easily be used against her. It showed that she was still attached to him. Granted, she had not exactly come with him willingly, but now that they were together again he could tell her feelings were getting the best of her.

Just as his were getting the best of him.

He shook the thought away, focused on the mortal. On manipulating her, convincing her they were on the same side. It wouldn't be too difficult. After all, the distance would benefit both of them. She had said herself that she wanted him gone.

That wish would be granted and they would both be set free. All they had to do was stand each other's company long enough to get him back to Asgard.

When she finally woke the next morning, he was on the couch waiting for her. It was almost hypnotizing, the way she looked in the ragged t-shirt that was far too big. There were paint splatters across the front and a part of him vaguely remembered putting them there.

"Good morning," he said offhandedly, still flipping through the book of Shakespeare plays that had been sitting on the end table.

She yawned in response, flopped down on the loveseat across from him. "Did you even sleep last night?"

Shaking his head, he flipped the page. "I require far less sleep than you."

"So do most people."

He chuckled at this, finally put the book down to look at her properly.

"Did you find anything interesting in that mythology book of yours?" he asked.

A grimace crossed her face and she shook her head. "Not yet."

Of course not. How could he have expected a mortal girl to even begin to understand the workings of the nine realms?

"I shouldn't have expected you to." With a sigh, he rose from his seat to find them something to eat in the kitchen.

"What's that supposed to mean?" And she was on her feet in a flash, suddenly seeming very awake and very defensive.

A smirk crossed his lips and he shrugged. "Simply that you are mortal. I should not have thought you capable of actually being of use."

"What do you want?" she demanded. Her hands were clenched into tight fists and her chest was heaving. He'd made her angry again. "Last night you told me I was exceptional, completely capable of helping, the next morning you're telling me how insignificant I am. How little I mean. I can help you. You know damn well I can. You just have to give it time. Help me understand. But if you're going to keep writing me off, I'm not going try. So you have to tell me, which one is it?"

For a moment he watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way color rose to stain her cheeks. Instinctively he drew a breath, pulled up his chin to look down at her, doing his best to look stoic.

"Which one?" he repeated. "Oh, Alice, you know damn well which one."

This frustrated her even further, those angry fists of hers uncurling and balling up again just as fast.

"I need to hear it from you." Her voice was barely more than a hiss. A small whisper through her clenched teeth. "Please. Just…put this to rest for both of us."

When he didn't respond, her hands came up to grip her hair, eyes started to fill with tears. She was angry, so angry, and he couldn't understand where it all had come from. All the rage and frustration just seemed to bubble up out of nowhere.

And then she screamed two words at him that brought him back a few years. Two words that sent everything spiraling out of control, "TELL ME!"

"Tell you what?" he growled, bringing his face inches from hers. "That I love you? That I can't live without you? It's a lie Alice. It's a lie and we both know it. John loved you, but I am not him. Not anymore."

She sniffed, nodded, began to turn away, but he reached out a hand and stopped her. "I'm not finished."

"You've said all you need to."

"No, I've not. You're something Alice, really something. You are brave and frustrating and constantly make me second-guess myself. You make me want you, Alice. I want to you to love me, to fear me, to worship me as your king. I want to be the first thought when you wake and the last before you slumber. I want you to say my name the way you said his."

For a long moment she stared at him, just as surprised by his confession as he. "Make me."

"What?" He hadn't expected a challenge.

"You heard me."

Stunned, he stared at her. He hadn't meant to say those words, hadn't even realized they were kicking around in his mind until they were hanging in the air between them.

"Are you just going to stare at me?" Her voice was quiet, hoarse.

And he didn't waste another moment. On reflex he lunged forward, cradled the back of her neck in his hand, entangled those long fingers of his in her hair, and kissed her fiercely. He fed her the breath she sucked in, backed her against the wall and ate up the moan she transferred to his lips.

It was the first time he had properly kissed her since being returned to his rightful self and it amazed him just how good it felt. She still tasted the same, still leaned into him just so, and when his hand pushed up the hem of her shirt to find the skin beneath she still made the same sound. That little whimper of hers had him pressing against her, grinding his hips against hers just to hear her moan.

He wanted her, wanted to consume her, to fuck her so hard she-

"Bedroom," she breathed against his lips. "If you're going to fuck me, do it properly."

Pulling away from her, he couldn't help smirking. "You are always so impatient. Always so demanding. You need to be taught some patience."

A million fantasies swam through his mind. Thoughts of tying her up, making her learn the meaning of delayed gratification. Making her suck him off, only leave her begging him to fuck her. To torture her for hours by bringing her within breaths of release, only to deny her the satisfaction.

"Maybe some other time," she groaned, her mouth locking onto his neck.

The slither of her tongue against his skin had him pushing all dominance fantasies aside. He wanted, no needed, to fuck her. Hard and animal like. Maybe against the damn wall if they didn't reach the bedroom soon.

But she was way ahead of him, disentangling her limbs from his just long enough to pull him down the hall before wrapping herself around him again. This time his mouth found her jaw, then her neck, and when the fabric of her shirt got in the way he cut it away with his dagger along with her bra, mouth never once leaving her skin.

"Hey, that was my Black Flag shir-" The rest of the statement was lost in a gasp as his teeth latched onto her nipple. She let fly a swear and buried her fingers in his hair, hips bucking against his thigh.

His hands worked their way across her bare skin, traced the swell of her hips before pushing down those stupid leggings of hers. At least they were easy to get off.

He pulled them away, threw them aside and took a moment to appreciate how undone she looked already. That red hair of hers was already mussed, the remains of her shirt still clinging to her forearms. The fabric fell away as she sat up and moved to start undressing him, only to realize she had exposed. He had forgotten just how beautiful she was, all pale skin and tattoos, with that little smirk quirking her lips.

It wasn't supposed to happen this fast. There was a part of him very aware that he was getting himself in too deep. That once he touched her again there was no turning back.

She pulled herself against him, kissed him again and made his head spin and just like that he was lost. Kissing her made him feel lighter than air, floating through time and space. They could be lost together, for all he cared. Just so long as this feeling lasted.

And then her hand was rubbing against his length and he came crashing back to himself. Instinct kicked in then and he pushed her back, watched her sprawl on the bed.

He pounced on her, attacked her skin with his bruising kisses. Fingers found her clit and he gave it a few teasing moments of contact. Gasping for air, she bucked against his hand, but he pulled back before she could get any real pleasure from it.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he breathed against the shell of her ear.

"Yes." The reply was quick, desperate.

"Tell me how badly you want it, my dear."

A frustrated groan preceded words. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he pushed her back down. Their eyes locked and he grinned at the need he saw there.

"Tell me, darling."

Rolling her eyes, she brought her lips to his jaw and sucked at his skin before cooperating. "I need you to fuck me."

"Do you really?"

Locking his gaze, she ran her fingers from his sternum to hips. "I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Bury my face in the pillows and take me from behind. I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk for days. Make me feel like you deserve my worship as king."

His heart sped up at her words, pupils dilating with each syllable.

"As you wish," he grinned.

And in one quick movement he flipped her over and slammed into her like a man possessed, reveling in the sound of the curse that fell from her lips.

Fuck, she was tight. And wet. So damn wet. He'd forgotten how good she felt. Gripping her hips tightly, he pulled back and slammed into her again. Another scream of pleasure accompanied by an emphatic, "Fuck."

As he set his frantic pace, his hands slid up her sides, one sliding into that fiery hair of hers and pulling her head up.

"Do you like that, darling?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

A loud moan and her head started to lull to the side. He tugged her hair again, listened to her scream, and repeated the question.

"Yes," she panted. "Oh god, yes. Fuck."

He slammed into her harder, deeper, relished each little sound that tumbled from that pretty mouth of hers. And with each sleek movement, it felt like sparks were shooting down his spine. He was on fire, his skin burning at the feeling of her, and he wanted to get lost in it forever.

Dipping his head, he leaned down and sucked at the skin that covered her spine, memorized the shape of her tattoos with his tongue. He would know them all by the end of this, he decided. And next time he would trace the ones on her chest.

He realized that he was assuming they would do this again. That this wasn't going to be a one-time incident. Unsure how he felt about that, he gave his next few thrusts extra effort, really enjoyed the feeling of pushing through her tight wetness. Even if he never got to touch her again, at least he could have this.

Suddenly her screams were growing louder, more desperate. Her hips were coming back to meet each thrust and he realized she was getting close to climax.

Reaching out, he took a handful of that hair again, pulled her upright so that her back was pressed against his chest.

"You're about to lose it, aren't you?" he hissed against her skin. "About to fall apart under the touch of the only being you will ever know as you king."

A whimper was all he got in response. Quiet, desperate, just about to break.

"Say my name, darling."

She gasped for breath, reached a hand back to take hold of his arm. "Loki."

At the sound of her name, his insides twisted. It sounded like a song on her lips. Another thrust to make her scream. "Louder."


"Louder. Let the heavens know who your king is."


He was climbing to that peak with her, each thrust drawing him closer. Release was so close and her heat was too much. He was going to drown in it.

"Come on, darling, like you mean it. Say. My. Name."

"LOKI!" She was screaming and her walls were closing in on him and together they plunged over that peak.

He lost himself for a moment, much as he tried to keep his head. Buried his face in the crook of her neck as his mind tore clean in half. For some time he hovered amongst the stars, not quite able to come back to his body.

And when he did he collapsed, still breathing hard. His chest was heaving and he pulled her against him, enjoyed the warmth of her skin and the sound of her still-frantic breathing.

Silence spread between them, neither quite able to form the right words to express what had just happened. Obviously she had known full well that he was no longer his mortal self. She had said his name without the smallest bit of hesitation.

They were in trouble. No, he was in trouble. Very much at risk of getting lost in the spell of the mortal he was currently holding tightly to, as if his very life depended on it.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Alice asked after a while.

"Yeah." His voice didn't feel like his own. Yet he felt more like himself than he had in days.

When she moved to get out of bed, he stopped her. Held her tighter for just a moment before letting her go. And as he watched her go, he was hypnotized by the way her hips swayed. The way the colors of her tattoos emphasized her curves.

Heaving a sigh, he laid back in bed. Ran his hands over his face as he tried to sort out his thoughts. He was in trouble. So much trouble. And he was no longer sure he could get out.