[ Her eyes are wet and he wants, desperately, madly perhaps, to make her cry if only to kiss them away, taste the salt of those tears against her skin. He thinks he knows how he'd do it; cause her to shed tears not only of pain but perhaps of joy as well. It's all tied into wanting to whisper her name, the whole of it, over and over again so she has the memory of his voice shaping the sound to carry on with her.
Being unable to tell just how destructive of an idea that may be means that his lips part, but nothing is said. Loki swallows. Feels her gaze upon him.
Lexie looks at him with love; he's seen it before, but never directed at himself, not like this, searingly hot like the touch of the coldest thing to unprepared flesh. She looks at him, not just at the collection of poor decisions and bad behavior, not through or past him to only his name and his birthright or the shadow of his brother that falls darkest in his heart above all others. She sees him, this kaleidoscope of fragmented and frosted glass, and she gazes upon him with love in her eyes and so when she takes his hands his breath has gone shaky again and he laces their fingers together.
It's easy to be pulled down by her, and he intends to take his time, to kiss her face and her throat and her chest and her fingers. He wants to be sweet, and gentle, and memorable for her. The friction caused by the brush of his cock against the inside of her thigh as he settles between her legs has him reconsidering that position, causing him to gasp and shut his eyes long enough to reign his body's nerve endings into some semblance of behavior.
He lets go of one hand in order to cup the side of her face, fingers spread from the very edge of her lips to the lobe of her ear. His thumb pressed against her lower lip as he looks in her eyes for permission to continue forward. ]
no subject
Being unable to tell just how destructive of an idea that may be means that his lips part, but nothing is said. Loki swallows. Feels her gaze upon him.
Lexie looks at him with love; he's seen it before, but never directed at himself, not like this, searingly hot like the touch of the coldest thing to unprepared flesh. She looks at him, not just at the collection of poor decisions and bad behavior, not through or past him to only his name and his birthright or the shadow of his brother that falls darkest in his heart above all others. She sees him, this kaleidoscope of fragmented and frosted glass, and she gazes upon him with love in her eyes and so when she takes his hands his breath has gone shaky again and he laces their fingers together.
It's easy to be pulled down by her, and he intends to take his time, to kiss her face and her throat and her chest and her fingers. He wants to be sweet, and gentle, and memorable for her. The friction caused by the brush of his cock against the inside of her thigh as he settles between her legs has him reconsidering that position, causing him to gasp and shut his eyes long enough to reign his body's nerve endings into some semblance of behavior.
He lets go of one hand in order to cup the side of her face, fingers spread from the very edge of her lips to the lobe of her ear. His thumb pressed against her lower lip as he looks in her eyes for permission to continue forward. ]