[ He manages to free her of the armor protecting her legs without even looking at the fastenings there; some things remain familiar no matter the quality of the leather involved, after all. This, he sets aside, running his hands over the fabric still between him and her skin before undoing the laces on her pants, her boots. She'll have to stand to be properly freed of both, but that's a problem for a slightly future moment in time. Loki has no particular compulsion to be anywhere other than at his knees in front of her right now and thus moves onward toward her bodice.
Head full of sounds: her soft breathing against his skin, the unfastening of ties and buckles, his own breath rough and ragged as she touches him. Mind searching through hundreds of years of encounters, looking for something with the gentleness to match this... and finding nearly nothing. He'd eschewed such things in the favor of passions running high and hot and burning out like a firecracker in the chill night air. He is hurrying, but not so much that he'll damage her clothing or the leathers; his speed is distilled into a single-minded efficiency in unfastening, untying, peeling the leather away until he's exposed the sturdy cotton shirt beneath.
At which point he leans back a little to look at her and feels the last buckle of his own chest armor give way, sliding off his shoulders. They'll both have to stand, now, and he's only slightly annoyed at that reality.
It was better when he could just enchant his own clothes off of him.
Loki's hands settle at her waist, beneath the fabric of her shirt, before he swallows and slowly begins to push the material upwards. It'll mean she has to stop her kisses, at least for a moment, but he wants the expanse of skin available to his touch, to undo the bindings at her chest, to stand and rid himself of pants that feel too constricted as it is. ]
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Head full of sounds: her soft breathing against his skin, the unfastening of ties and buckles, his own breath rough and ragged as she touches him. Mind searching through hundreds of years of encounters, looking for something with the gentleness to match this... and finding nearly nothing. He'd eschewed such things in the favor of passions running high and hot and burning out like a firecracker in the chill night air. He is hurrying, but not so much that he'll damage her clothing or the leathers; his speed is distilled into a single-minded efficiency in unfastening, untying, peeling the leather away until he's exposed the sturdy cotton shirt beneath.
At which point he leans back a little to look at her and feels the last buckle of his own chest armor give way, sliding off his shoulders. They'll both have to stand, now, and he's only slightly annoyed at that reality.
It was better when he could just enchant his own clothes off of him.
Loki's hands settle at her waist, beneath the fabric of her shirt, before he swallows and slowly begins to push the material upwards. It'll mean she has to stop her kisses, at least for a moment, but he wants the expanse of skin available to his touch, to undo the bindings at her chest, to stand and rid himself of pants that feel too constricted as it is. ]