Chapter Text
His back stiffens with knots as she pushes her hands beneath the thin black fabric of his shirt, and he winces, pulling away slightly.
"Baby—not so hard," he sighs, leaning to the side a moment, turning his head slightly. She croons, gently scanning down the lengths of his shoulder blades, encircling the ribs. The detective inhales through his teeth and sits straight up.
"Franca," he breathes. She finally lifts up the back of his shirt to find a large blue bruise there. A small gasp escapes from between her tired, puffy lips.
"Loki…what's this?" she asks, continuing to pull his shirt up further.
"Nothing, it's okay. Go back to sleep," he says, pulling the shirt down and turning round to face her with a weak smile. She doesn't buy it.
"I didn't mean to wake you up. I was just coming home to shower and change. Gotta head back to the station," he says, pushing his hand through her dark forest of hair.
"I thought you weren't coming home until Friday," he says quietly before kissing her forehead. She can tell without staring long that Loki hasn't slept in days. As he attempts to stand, she makes her way into his lap. He sighs, with what sounds like slight irritation at first, before she feels his lips smile against her neck, and he exhales, cocooning her in those strong arms that she hasn't felt in a solid three weeks. She'd missed them dearly.
"You need to stay here and sleep. Sleep with me," she says soothingly. Loki sighs again.
"Where'd you get that bruise?" she asks. The detective kisses her neck, lingering, gradually sucking the flesh between his lips in a way that causes Franca to bite hers.
"It's nothing," he promises, "Just tripped chasing this creep around. I wasn't even in uniform and he started running from me…" He tries not to dwell on this case that's been driving him crazy—not while he's holding her. Part of detective Loki believes that Franca would not have come home to him again. She could have stayed overseas, her body a faraway longing he would not have sensed again. She'd have met someone who had time for her, made her feel like he could see her. Before she left, she hadn't said goodbye. Things were stale between them. But the longer her lithe hips sink against his torso, the more the fire begins to ignite inside him, her limbs in his hands like coals that had been put back in the flames.
"I missed you," she whispers. She whispers this, admitting defeat, and Loki smiles. Last time the detective checked, they weren't talking. She was angry with him. But he had to put as much time as he did into his job, or he wouldn't have been worth a damn, and she knew it. He laughs pleasantly.
"Stop being an asshole. Get your shower and come to bed," she demands, leaning back to stare into his deflated eyes.
"Jesus, Loki."
He looks away, frowning a moment.
"You—need—to—sleep. Don’t even try to argue with me."
"I gotta go," he says with an exaggerated frown. He kisses her lips, catching her off guard. Neither of them close their eyes in the moment.
"I have to, Franca. I have to solve this case. There are children missing, and I have to find them." She sighs.
"…I understand that, but you can go to bed at night—"
"No. I can't. You know that I can't."
He doesn't look at the frustration on her face as he slides his way out from under the woman. This is what had brought them to the rocks before. He doesn't have time to relax—especially not in the middle of a case. But really, it's that he won't take time in the middle of a case. Franca recalls with a feeling of desertion the time where he didn't come home for four days straight. His ever elusive sweetness once again makes the woman angry, but angry in a way that she'd cry before she decided to scream at the detective again.
"You should look in the mirror," she says calmly, sitting in her underwear and t-shirt atop the mauve quilt.
"Why?" Loki asks without turning to face her. She exhales through her nose with false humor. And despite Franca's anger, she can't help but stare in longing at the beautiful back, bruise and all, that is suddenly exposed to her. The black long-sleeved shirt that had clung like armor to his trim frame dances with a heavy drop into the hamper, which is the first thing Franca noticed upon dragging her luggage to the bedroom. He hasn't done laundry in long enough that she can smell him everywhere. The detective turns to face Franca as he begins unbuckling his belt, the badge on his pocket shining in the lamp light when he picks it off and places it on the nightstand. His tired eyes scan her with a longing that is un-ignorable, despite how much she can feel him tearing away again to thoughts of work and the case he's desperately trying to solve. He doesn't hesitate or flinch upon pulling his briefs down full along with the pants he was wearing. She watches him throw the clothes into the hamper and make his way into the bathroom. She lies down with an impatient sigh. It's ten forty-five and she's been lying here since eight-thirty waiting for him to get in.
Franca waits. She listens to the toilet flushing, the sink running, the sound of Loki cursing when he cuts his cheek accidentally while shaving in front of the mirror. And she almost falls asleep again when the shower chimes on. She sits up in bed and stares at the closed door a moment too long. She would not be ignored. To have him just hold her until she fell asleep would have been nice, but she couldn't stomach the feeling of waking up to find him gone, not even his badge—his pride and glory—resting silently on the nightstand until her eyes opened again. Franca pushes the door open, a comforting heat engulfing her as the steam billows every which way. She tiptoes towards the curtain and begins to remove her underwear, hanging the item on the sink with her t-shirt. Slowly, she pulls the curtain back and finds him standing there, rinsing the suds out of his dark brown hair, the tattoos on his knuckles and neck becoming a blur beneath the streaming hot water. He pauses at the uninvited chill that saunters into the shower.
When he finally wipes his eyes and turns around to find Franca standing there, naked, he's almost too tired to realize she'd taken her clothes off in the first place. He faces her, blinking a trickle of water out of his eye. She doesn't wait for him to say anything before gripping his chest for support and maneuvering in to join him. She'd already showered, but she had to be near him. To Franca's surprise, Loki pulls her to his body tightly, almost so hard that she couldn't catch her breath. He hasn't done it quite like this before. Something is wrong. She presses her lips into his peck and he leans in on her, turning so that she faces the shower wall, the cold of the tiles and the ring on his left pinky meeting her skin and causing her to gasp. His voice is a hot breath in Franca's ear when he speaks, pulling her up against him so that she's at tip toes.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
She revels in the heat of his skin.
"Please…just stay and sleep. One night won't mean the end of the world," she says, her voice initially hampered by the force of his hold, so he eases up on her.
"Please, Loki. That bruise looks really bad—"
"I know. But I can't…I have to go," he says, securing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes as if it pains him. She gently glides her hands over the sores again and he winces a moment. She buries her face into his neck and starts to kiss. The detective presses her harder against the shower wall.
"You better stop that," he says warningly, his words serious and just about frigid. She doesn't stop and shortly he lets out a throaty groan. Was it not the detective himself who had pulled her into the shower? He feels her distractions at work, but regardless, can't refrain from making his way between her legs, so that she wraps them about his waist, running her ankle down his buttock like a cruel joke of some kind. She nibbles on his ear. It shocks her to feel a fist knot in her hair and pull back. He stares at her a moment before planting his mouth firmly on hers. The kiss is much more short-lived than she wanted it to be, and Loki's fists still knot in Franca's hair when he looks down into her eyes.
"If you're not going to stay, make love to me before you go," she damn near begs, clawing into his shoulders. His eyes are so puffy and tired that she wants to do anything she can to tire him out to a point where he couldn't even lift a finger. He hauls her out of the shower so fast that she nearly slips when he sets her back on her feet. She shoves them into her flip flops as he turns the shower off. Franca feels a towel drape over her shoulders and turns to find Loki reaching for a second one for himself in the closet. His skin is flushed red from the heated room, and as he towels off vigorously, she wonders whether he'll acquiesce. He'd cut her off so abruptly that she wasn't even sure he'd heard her ask. But then he grabs her arm and leads her back into their bedroom.
"Lie down," he orders against her ear, and she quickly finds her hands clamped against the bed by the strength of his large hands. She moans upon feeling him glide nakedly against her back, easing her down with kisses, restraining her so that she couldn’t move in ways his body would not have allowed. His breathing doesn't slow down as he shushes her and nibbles possessively into the back of her neck, grabbing her thigh and massaging his fingers into the flesh repeatedly. Her breasts begin to swell with anticipation and everything feels hot where the detective's skin is touching hers. She had missed his adrenaline, the way she had to keep up with him like this. Despite how dead exhausted he'd looked, he had the strength to take her now.
"I'm sorry I didn't call," he breathes, massaging the hand that he kept plastered to the mauve quilt while the other roamed up to her throat and cupped it heatedly. He fondles a breast, turning Franca over, lying between her thighs and finding her lips before she has the chance to say another word. She gasps into the detective's open mouth when he forces his way, so unceremoniously, inside of her. She'd barely had a chance to warm up.
The sudden stretching sensation causes her back to arch and her legs to clamp against Loki's sides reluctantly. He leans over her, baring into the mattress at her sides, pressing his lips against her forehead and giving a curl to his spine that causes him to sink in deeper. Franca bites into his shoulder and he groans. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought this to be angry sex. She was, in fact, angry that Loki would be gone by the time she woke up. She hated how he'd always do that to her, despite knowing what being a detective meant to him. Was he just trying to fuck her hastily so she'd leave him alone, let him go back to work? Or had he missed her just as much as she admitted to missing him in the way that he sunk himself within her eagerly, as if he didn't want to waste another moment outside of her warmth?
"I'm glad you didn’t. I think we needed the space," she admits. He had paused to let her awaken more comfortably, a rough thumb strolling across her cheek. She'd missed the weight of his body on hers, the way it restricted her every move and breath, until they were in tandem with the detective's. She could tell she was sweating then, but it felt nice. The sound of his breaths evaporating in her ears, their flesh making contact, gradually increasing with intensity until he was knocking all the right spots and saying all the nasty things that made her blush and moan weakly. She fell asleep soon after, head hot and swimming pleasurably against his peck, and didn't even hear him slipping into a fresh pair of jeans.