[ the boldness of loki's words seems to thrill his brother - as it thrills loki himself. it all comes tumbling out of him without thought, his wants verbalized, unfiltered, for loki cannot think enough to censor himself. all pain, all discomfort is washed away, and loki is lost to the pleasure of it all, drowning in it willingly, he does not fight these feelings.
and then thor is shifting, leaning, drawing loki's supple body along with him and he can only comply, lying prone against his brother's chest with his face tucked against his collar. despite the obvious difference in size they seem to fit together somehow, and loki nestles comfortably against his body as if he were made to settle here. at last thor seems to have thrown caution to the wind and his upward thrusts are jarring and deep but good, almost overwhelming, and loki cries out against him but this time it is in pleasure, in yearning. the fit of thor's cock within him is almost impossibly tight, all consuming, filling him in a way that loki had never conceived possible, a way that he had never thought to explore.
there are upsides to this place, it seems. ]
Yours, yes, yours -
[ it is a tease of course, and entirely untrue, for loki can never truly belong to anyone and yet if he were ever to have an owner it would be this man, his broad and mighty brother, the only being in these vast realms that loki can claim to love with the entirety of his being, absolutely, completely, unconditionally. loki's arms wind about him, his hands search for his face, glide along his jaw and his throat, touching, feeling, clinging to thor and riding his sharp upward thrusts, hyperfocused on the slipslide of thor's cock, on the shape of his jaw, the planes of his chest, everything he can reach. loki pants and gulp breaths, he mouths the ridge of thor's collar and grinds against his belly, writhing and thrashing and clutching to him with his thighs, his toes spread over the covers, digging down for purchase. these feelings are rising within him, boiling and bubbling and loki's tongue is weighed by it - he is too lost to string together proper sentences, proper entreaties. yes, thor, yes, brother, brother, brother -- ]
and yet there's so much canon gay to icon.
and then thor is shifting, leaning, drawing loki's supple body along with him and he can only comply, lying prone against his brother's chest with his face tucked against his collar. despite the obvious difference in size they seem to fit together somehow, and loki nestles comfortably against his body as if he were made to settle here. at last thor seems to have thrown caution to the wind and his upward thrusts are jarring and deep but good, almost overwhelming, and loki cries out against him but this time it is in pleasure, in yearning. the fit of thor's cock within him is almost impossibly tight, all consuming, filling him in a way that loki had never conceived possible, a way that he had never thought to explore.
there are upsides to this place, it seems. ]
Yours, yes, yours -
[ it is a tease of course, and entirely untrue, for loki can never truly belong to anyone and yet if he were ever to have an owner it would be this man, his broad and mighty brother, the only being in these vast realms that loki can claim to love with the entirety of his being, absolutely, completely, unconditionally. loki's arms wind about him, his hands search for his face, glide along his jaw and his throat, touching, feeling, clinging to thor and riding his sharp upward thrusts, hyperfocused on the slipslide of thor's cock, on the shape of his jaw, the planes of his chest, everything he can reach. loki pants and gulp breaths, he mouths the ridge of thor's collar and grinds against his belly, writhing and thrashing and clutching to him with his thighs, his toes spread over the covers, digging down for purchase. these feelings are rising within him, boiling and bubbling and loki's tongue is weighed by it - he is too lost to string together proper sentences, proper entreaties. yes, thor, yes, brother, brother, brother -- ]