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Amora was an combination of furious and miserable. Not only had Thor slipped through her fingers, but it had been Loki's fault. And then the Trickster had gone and made her feel miserable for lashing out at him for it! And to top it all off, she was no closer to getting home and homesickness had settled in. So, rather than sit alone in the apartment he had 'left' for her she sought out Sean's—and possibly his company.
Thus it was that Amora had transformed his apartment to illusions of solid gold, with sweeping balconies that opened up to an alien sky. Plants of strange varieties and silks of shimmering translucence draped from the illusioned high pitched ceilings and out. It was clearly, her idea of a palace. Complete with song, servants (where they magical?), and someone fanning her. A pile of treasure was laid out before her on a couch that was held up by a solid golden frame. She idly flipped through another ancient tomb, a crystal goblet in hand filed with an amber colored liquid.
*
The youth had acquired a taste for opulence, but this was perhaps too sweet for even his senses. Rich woods and soft earth tones being his preference, the sudden metallic tang of Amora's interior decorating inclinations made him sigh at the entryway in a note of exasperation. Withdrawal from her presence had been as abrupt and painful as to be expected, similar to the one time he dabbled in abusing pharmaceuticals during a particularly boring summer break at home. Like some faintly remembered ache, the sensation of her close presence ran down his spine and he leaned against the front door until it clicked closed, unbuttoning his jacket and tossing it to a nearby servant.
"You've been busy."
He intoned as he dropped onto the opposite side of the couch, his toe kicking a particularly large ruby down the pile of other treasures with a distracted grace. He had eyes only for her, and the soft blue regarded Asgardian beauty from over the edge of his knees as he sprawled in lion-like repose.
*
Amora turned a sharp green eyed gaze at him, irritation still livid and bright there, though it was clearly not aimed at him. At least, it seemed so. She snapped the book shut and set it aside. With a fluid motion she rose, sheer green silk trailing behind her and down her legs in a slitted skirt that was clasped into a gold belt. A low neckline proved that the silk pulled upwards and barely covered her chest as she prowled toward him.
Her hands settled on either of his knees as she leaned forward toward him. "Am I not beauty incarnate? Am I not desirable? Who could possibly reject me? Am I not the most beautiful of any immortal born within Asgard? Midgard? How could a mortal woman possibly have -anything- that I can not provide?" She hissed, her fingers digging into the flesh of his skin without relent.
She tilted her head her eyes narrowed as she waited for the usual assurances that *had* to fall from his lips.
*
Sean pauses in the midst of gesturing for a glass to be brought to him, filled with whatever she was having, yes of course. The hand didn't complete the beckoning sway though, his attentions fixated upon the immortal as she closed the distance between them in her bewitching way, all curves and predatory perfection. Despite the reclamation of self-control that distance had gifted him with, willpower dwindled as her hands settled across his thighs and a shiver ran down his spine, arching him up and into the points of pain her attentions were digging.
"Is it a rhetorical question because I actually am not sure who can reject you?"
Sean managed, his smile weakening with his resolve before he continued, his voice weaker than before, "You are everything. There are no celestial bodies that can compare to your beauty, nor are there forces I could comprehend that approach your complete might. Whatever has vexed you, certainly it should be wiped from existence for causing you to think, even for a moment, anything other than these truths."
*
Amora slid forward, settling between his legs and sliding her hands upwards to secure his shoulders and pin him down against the couch. She leaned forward, inhaling his scent against the crook of his neck and venturing to nip at his earlobe. "There is one!" She snarled and pushed against him once before she withdrew with a sway of her hips.
"The Thunderer! The God of Thunder as you mortals know him. Thor Odinson! He rejected me! ME!" She slammed her hand against her chest as she spoke and whirled back to face him.
"He chose a mortal woman and wanted to make her Queen of Asgard! And now that they are no more, he still refused me! I invite him with open arms, no magic, nothing but me and he rejects me! Again and again! For the past thousand years! He didn't even know I was exiled. Didn't /care/!" Her voice broke and tears welled up in her eyes, though they did not fall.
"I had him in my /arms/ and Loki steals inside. Ruins everything I had been working for for hours in a matter of seconds! And then he tells me that I am acting like a mortal!" She was yelling at this point, throwing her arms up and clenching them—sickly green light haloing her hand.
*
There was a sickening moment when he could feel the power thrumming just underneath her skin and taste the magic beginning to saturate the air that Sean was both agonizingly aroused and terrified. It was not a comfortable concoction, and even as instinct brought his hips to marry against her own and his own lips to gently trace that perfect jawline, his heart was in his throat and his pupils were beginning to recede to pinpricks.
And yet, the sudden departure left him gasping for air he didn't realize he had been avoiding breathing, a hand raising to run through his thick blonde hair as he stared at her in the appropriate mixture of shock and awe that one would expect. The pacing was followed with a quiet attention, a listening ear his practiced future profession as he waited for the emotion to overtake her. Only then did his gently intone,
"You have given them so much of yourself, and yet they offer nothing in return. How does that make you feel, my Goddess?"
*
A hiss escaped her and she flung the magic gathered in her palms at the ground, the apartment building shaking and groaning under the assault before, just as magically it sealed up and was unchanged. She had, perhaps wisely, set her own wards around the place some weeks ago. They corrected, they hid and concealed her destructive magic now.
"He thinks men are good, that mortals here are /worthy/ of his time. He will be king! I should be his queen by his side and yet he rejects me again and again. I just want to go HOOOME!" She wailed the last, pulling at her hair and pacing again. The silks of her skirts billowing out with each motion.
"But the All Father made it conditional that my exile ends when his son is turned from mortals and returns home to assume his duties! I am the Enchantress of Asgard! I have seduced every Aesir that I desire, stolen their secrets and their magic! And yet he still resists me!"
She sank to her knees, a sob in her throat. "I could destroy him, I could kill him. But I love that ignorant clod! I swear I do." She whimpered, pressing her hands against her features.
"He's the only one to be kind to me. Truly kind. That I need not manipulate. That I can't control. That has a golden heart that has never changed course.."
*
From a pocket, Sean pulled an embroidered handkerchief. Even as he poured off the couch to join her where she sat on the floor, he held it out between well-groomed fingers, the opalescent surroundings casting a faint yellow hue back on the supple fabric. It was as thick and soft as butter, capable of soaking up all her tears, and he maintained the offering silently as he nodded calmly. His features were unreadable.
"Which do you desire more, to go home, or his love?"
It was an interesting question, and perhaps one she had never truly weighed. Sean's fingers held out that handkerchief as if he were balancing some cosmic scale for her, and forcing her to honestly evaluate the weight of her emotions.
*
Amora deflated significantly, her shoulders sagging as she took the offered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "I cannot return home until I have his love." She whispered weakly, turning watery green eyes to gaze at him.
"Odin's word is the law and unless I turn his son away from wanting a mortal Queen I can't go home." She sniffed, a demure, daintily. The illusions around them weakened and faltered, and with a flash of light they melted away and she was once again in her human guise. No less lovely, but clad in a simpler gold dress.
"I've tried everything. I've lied and manipulated him. Seduced him. I've been honest and kindly and playful and everything under the sun. I have tried for over a thousand years to earn his love and all I've ever gained is his 'friendship'." She sneered.
*
With his back against the recently vacated couch, he opens his arms to her, inviting her to clamor against his waiting chest and take whatever comfort from it she could. Regardless of her acceptance of the offer, he preamble patiently in the wake of her words,
"I do not pretend to understand the games of immortal beings. I am not as clever as a god of mischief, nor as worthy of your time as a god of thunder. However, I have seen much of human affection and manipulated my fair share of even the purest love."
The declaimer leveled, he continued with a faint smile on his lips, a keen intelligence in his gaze that had been lingering just outside the touch of her enchantment from the moment of their first kiss.
"As I've told you, it is far easier to encourage an emotion to grow if the seed is already planted. Perhaps there is no love for you in his garden. Surely the god of thunder could be inclined to wrath and rage, though? Perhaps it is possible to turn him away from humanity without love, but with something far easier to find in excess."
*
Amora settled in against his chest with a sigh, her eyes closing as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. She waved a hand distractedly, and her tear stained mascara fixed and his handkerchief returning to its place in his pocket, clean and neatly folded.
At his words she sat up, looking back at him. "The rage of a good man is a terrible thing.." She whispered softly, pressing a hand against his cheek.
"Do you know what destructive power he wields?" She arched a brow. "I will admit, I have considered the thought.. To turn him from humanity by showing him the worst of it.." She exhaled, closing her eyes.
"There are plenty of horrors in this world. Perhaps I might do my best to ensure they're visible…"
*
"There is a difference between humanity playing its role as amusing distraction from the mundane expanse of immortality, and actively loving our frail attempts at greatness."
The words played over his lips as smooth as the scotch he usually enjoyed, his blue eyes meeting the still emotion-strained expression as his features were turned to bask in her beauty underneath that gentle touch. An eyebrow raised as he tilted his head to one side, as if curious or perhaps just attempting to sink deeper into her touch like a neglected cat.
"Surely you aren't afraid of him? What cause would he have to be angry with you? All you need do is show him the rich and powerful, men like my father or those fingering the strings of politics from behind the veil of financing campaigns? That's not your fault. You hardly made me what I am."
As he had spoken, his hand had fallen to gently entangle among her golden curls, nails scraping at the base of her skull in an idle massage as his lyrics played over her bruised ego like a salve.
*
Amora sighed into his nails playing upon her crown of golden hair. She made a low sound, and leaned into his touch. "He does not understand subtly. And do I fear his wrath? It can be a terrible thing. I have witnessed it many a time."
"I had the thought of backing those powers that be. Those which show little care for Midgard but live and love and die here. Have you heard of the Hellfire club, my pet?" She murmured, her eyes opening up into a slitted view to glance at him between her eyelashes.
"Sebastian Shaw wants to be King of the world.. I might lend him a hand to ease things forward. Those with gifts verses those without could rend this world asunder.." She rolled her shoulders back, considering anew.
"But I needs must find a way to destroy Loki's plans. He denies they exist, but he most assuredly has them. For crossing me I want to make him pay. He ruined my chance to have Thor in my bed and live in my rooms. For that mischief I want his plans ruined.."
*
Sean smirks at the familiar names, nodding once before answering without airs,
"My father's membership extends to me, though I do not make it a habit to attend the local chapter. My conquests tend to be far more limited in scope than the other members."
An easy shrug adapted to receive her weight more evenly, and he breathed in the scent of her as his hands played lower, pressing against her shoulders and seeking the knots he knew he would find there while she spoke. A lengthy consideration of her quandary was feigned before he ran a tongue over thin lips and offered up,
"Break his toys. It will distract him long enough that his plans will fray and it will be easier to pull them apart. Just need to find that single thread."
*
Amora's frame leaned this way and that to allow him better access to her shoulders as his hands played over the knots that had formed there. Another sigh fell from her lips. "That would be obvious my pet. He'd know that it was me.. I need something that he wouldn't expect. Something he doesn't-" She paused and a wicked smile curled upon her lips.
"His pet.. his toy.. Oh, rather than break her straight away. I should fan the flames of desire she holds for him. Make her mad for him in ways that defy logic." She laughed softly then, pushing her hair back from her face.
"He'll either grow bored with her or break her. But if she's struck mad with desire for him? I'm sure that if she's as powerful as he thinks, then it will be most distracting to him indeed."
*
Sean offers up a soft noise of agreement that mixed with pleasure as she leaned into his touch, her musings followed with idle curiosity. Though the temptation did rise to stray lower upon her spine, he had not forgotten her powers lifting him over the dinner table, the feeling of pressure around his neck, her lips hovering just shy of his own in lazy threat of enrapturing him once more-
No, it would benefit him to exercise some self-control.
Instead he murmured quietly into the ridge of her ear, after nuzzling aside a curtain of flaxen curls,
"Your wish is my command, my Queen."
*
Amora shrugged once, her lips curling into a faint cruel smile. "Oh no my darling, you'll need not worry this time. I am the goddess most strongly associated with love and lust, I have been known by many names in your realm.. But they're not incorrect in my powers. I will craft you a potion. One love potion for her. It won't do anything of the sort to make her fall in love with one she's not already in love with.. Or lust. Nothing with what the mortals like to attach to such things.. But it will inflame her desires."
"Slip it into her drink, and use your power of suggestion only if you wish. I will have her mad with desire for him."
*
If the man had an ego that she could offend, perhaps he would have winced a tad at her sudden dismissal of his own powers. Yet he was lazier than he was proud, and the opportunity to simply drug a young woman instead of slowly rust away her iron will held equal appeal for the youth. Thus he pulled her closer and gestured for a bottle of wine to be brought, one of his legs hooking against her ankle to entwine their figures as he complimented her most wicked of plans.
The night would hold only compliments for the spurned goddess, and a mortal's paltry affections to quench her thirst for what Thor denied her.
*