Loki hears her, however softly she speaks, with his ear pressed so against her chest. He shifts, groggily, as a man just woken and moves away just enough to look at her face. There are tracks there, traces of tears as clear on her skin as his, no doubt.

To take control would so often be his preference; he was so fond of holding dominion over things, even in small matters...but his failure is too recent a wound. No, he cannot bear the weight of responsibility just yet, however mild.

"Take it from me," he urges her, his voice rougher and drier than he likes. He bends to press his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, and draws a long breath. "Please, mistress."