[ everything is so new. these feelings - they race inside of him like streaks of electricity, unbidden, uncontrollable, irresistible. thor's hands are all over him, touching and feeling and bunching up his clothing. there is no thought in thor's hands, only blind lust, unforgiving thirst, the need for more. thor has ever been a physical creature, and far be it for him to ever seek to staunch it, but loki would have him no other way. he loves the animal that lives within his brother, he loves his wildness, this god of thunder who is no man's slave, and no man's pet, a fearsome, noble deity belonging only to himself. or if he must have a mistress - fair asgardia, and no other. he is beautiful and terrifying and loki loves him with a deep, unerring ferocity that cannot be matched.
he feels hot, suffocated, both by thor's weight and the restriction of his clothing - one of which he is unwilling to part with. and so the tunic must go. loki wriggles, breaks from the kiss to writhe beneath thor's bulk, tugging his arms into his tunic and snaking out of it, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside like so much shed skin. and after that he is taking thor's wrists, guiding his hands, urging him to take hold of the clingy black shirt that loki wears, coaxing him to peel it up, over, away.
and at last, he can breathe. loki's arms close around thor's shoulders anew, his slim body arching up, up, until they are pressed flush, until loki can feel the incredible slide of skin on skin, the smooth catch of two bodies in motion but it is not enough, still not enough. loki's hands move quick as silver, over thor's shoulders and along his chest, down his broad ribs, sliding over his abdomen. he would like to take the time to go slowly, he thinks, to memorize his brother's powerful body with his hands and his mouth, to spend long hours simply touching him, learning him.
but not tonight. not now. loki's hands dive low, and before he can think to hesitate, they plunge into the front of his brother's taut leggings. ]
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he feels hot, suffocated, both by thor's weight and the restriction of his clothing - one of which he is unwilling to part with. and so the tunic must go. loki wriggles, breaks from the kiss to writhe beneath thor's bulk, tugging his arms into his tunic and snaking out of it, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside like so much shed skin. and after that he is taking thor's wrists, guiding his hands, urging him to take hold of the clingy black shirt that loki wears, coaxing him to peel it up, over, away.
and at last, he can breathe. loki's arms close around thor's shoulders anew, his slim body arching up, up, until they are pressed flush, until loki can feel the incredible slide of skin on skin, the smooth catch of two bodies in motion but it is not enough, still not enough. loki's hands move quick as silver, over thor's shoulders and along his chest, down his broad ribs, sliding over his abdomen. he would like to take the time to go slowly, he thinks, to memorize his brother's powerful body with his hands and his mouth, to spend long hours simply touching him, learning him.
but not tonight. not now. loki's hands dive low, and before he can think to hesitate, they plunge into the front of his brother's taut leggings. ]