[ for all the coverage loki's thin leggings provide, they may as well be air for how tightly they cling. thor's hands feel so close, so close, the tight fabric is so thin, a second skin, and yet so thick. he feels all but suffocated, his skin burning hot - why does he wear so much?
and thor is worse still. encased in unyielding mail and plate, his brother is all but inaccessible - the skin of his hands, his face and his neck are all that is available to loki to pillage, and it is not nearly enough. there is a hunger building in him that loki cannot hope to control, a yearning urge for more, more, more; it's entirely new, entirely different. loki cannot remember ever wanting so much, or experiencing a feeling like this. of course he has known pleasure before (he's a young boy, you know, and a curious young boy at that), and it has been good, but this is an entirely new level of pleasure, this is obscene, this is ravenous thirst. it's not right, it's that damnable thing in his head whispering secrets, inflaming his thoughts, heating his body but oh loki cannot hate it, not now, not while he is so terribly, incredibly aroused.
but what to do? loki wants more, he must have more, he must have thor's hands upon him, all over him, he must have skin on skin, more of this sweet friction. a keening whine twists in the back of his throat and it is a desperate, injured, frustrated sound, and at last loki's hands unfurl from thor's cape to move over his shoulders and down his chest, tracing the hard surface of his mailed front, searching for clasps, ties, anything - but thor's attire remains infuriatingly puzzling.
-- oh, a belt, yes, loki will start with that. his slim fingers work quickly, tugging and pressing until at last it opens, and he can pull it away. ]
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and thor is worse still. encased in unyielding mail and plate, his brother is all but inaccessible - the skin of his hands, his face and his neck are all that is available to loki to pillage, and it is not nearly enough. there is a hunger building in him that loki cannot hope to control, a yearning urge for more, more, more; it's entirely new, entirely different. loki cannot remember ever wanting so much, or experiencing a feeling like this. of course he has known pleasure before (he's a young boy, you know, and a curious young boy at that), and it has been good, but this is an entirely new level of pleasure, this is obscene, this is ravenous thirst. it's not right, it's that damnable thing in his head whispering secrets, inflaming his thoughts, heating his body but oh loki cannot hate it, not now, not while he is so terribly, incredibly aroused.
but what to do? loki wants more, he must have more, he must have thor's hands upon him, all over him, he must have skin on skin, more of this sweet friction. a keening whine twists in the back of his throat and it is a desperate, injured, frustrated sound, and at last loki's hands unfurl from thor's cape to move over his shoulders and down his chest, tracing the hard surface of his mailed front, searching for clasps, ties, anything - but thor's attire remains infuriatingly puzzling.
-- oh, a belt, yes, loki will start with that. his slim fingers work quickly, tugging and pressing until at last it opens, and he can pull it away. ]