[ Her expression at what he considers to be a simple if not obvious compliment is a wonder. Like he's offered her something precious she's decided to treasure forever; a flower from the side of the walked path, pressed and dried in a diary. Something fleeting that manages to possess some meaning for much longer than originally intended.
Goosebumps follow in the wake of her touch despite the now mid-morning light streaming in through the windows. She kisses his palms like a benediction, something he doesn't know he'll ever expect or fully understand, and Loki fumbles with the tie for a moment before the chemise is loosened and he sits up a bit to help her out of the shift dress.
She still looks... perfectly coiffed, with her hair done up like that, and Loki reaches for where he imagines one of the pins to be before he stops, hand hovering. ]
[ Knowing what fine dexterity Loki's hands are capable of, that he fumbles with the simplest of ties charms her. Her smile glows with it as she dips her head in acquiescence. ]
Please.
[ Alexandrie will be patient as he feels his way through the process of releasing the coiffure that Marie had put in place, eager to feel the gentle movements of his hands in her hair; hands which will smell of roses by the time the flame of her curls cascades freely down her back.
Not too patient, however. When she thinks he is halfway done her hands will find their way to wandering idly down his chest until she can find the tie to his pants and hover there, running the ends of it through her fingers such that he will be able to feel the slow repetitive tug of her movement but it will not come undone. ]
[ There's something very grounding in the methodical process of removing many pins from someone's hair by hand, Loki finds; a small pile of pins begins to gather in the palms of his hands, to be deposited on the bedside once he's found them all.
His fingers pause when she begins to pull at the tie holding his pants fast, as if waiting to see what she may do, but then they continue. ]
Are you waiting for me to finish? [ He asks, teasing.
That his hands smell like her hair, now, is something quite wonderful, he thinks, taking a deep breath of the perfume as he coaxes her curls to fall across her bared shoulders. ]
Yes, [ she replies, matching his teasing tone. Alexandrie sighs her way into a happy hum as he arranges the fall of her hair to his liking, enjoying the way it tickles. ]
I did not wish to be so distracted that I should miss the little movements of your hands.
[ She pulls again at the tie, but this time it is to loose it. ]
Nor did I wish you to be thinking of my hair when I should prefer you to be thinking of my hands.
[ Less constricted by the waist, she can slide the fingers of her other hand down Loki's side and past the cloth to splay across his hip, from there can curve her hand to run the backs of her fingers over the top of his thigh. Slows at the apex of its curve, extends fingers barely past, holds there as she watches him.
Well, [ he says quietly, moving his hands from her hair down the sides of her neck, fingers walking across her collarbones, ] I don't think there is a very high risk of that.
[ Not when her fingers down his side cause a strong shudder for such a slight touch, and one that he has to take a deep breath to recollect himself from.
Loki's voice is equally quiet, but rough with wanting. ]
[ Her eyes close, lips part, for a moment just to hear him. Just to hear the way he wants and to feel the way he shudders and the way the tips of her fingers tingle with the anticipation of touching him again for the first time.
For more than half a thousand days she has missed the way that Loki breathes when her hands are on him. She is trying not to listen for it; trying to let this be something new, let him be something new. As new as he would like to be.
His voice on the crystal, a giant, a god, self-orphaned and desperate and far from a home he can never return to and loved. Loved. She leans to him. Presses her lips to the space at the edge of his jaw and again just below, one hand at his shoulder, the other resuming its movement until she can caress the curve of his cock, not holding so much as she curls around it like a wing; a slow exploration along it, then lifting protectively so they might slip his pants free of his body together with ease. ]
[ It's so gentle, her touch, he wonders at the fact that he doesn't simply unravel in its wake like a handmade sweater with a loose thread tugging the loops and knots of the knit apart from one another. He is glad, in this moment, to be wearing nothing beneath his pants, a subtle shifting to free himself from the last of the fabrics that keep his skin from her touch and exploration.
Moving closer once that's done, Loki finds his fingers brushing against her temples, smoothing across the ridge of her brows, down her nose, across her lips. His legs shift to entangle themselves with hers, even as his hands move down to explore the rest of her exposed skin. Across her collarbones, between her breasts, and down towards her belly button with the index finger of both hands before he glances towards her stockings, trying to figure out how they've managed to stay up through all this before he spots what must be the method of securing them peeking out from where they are rolled at the top.
That just means that his fingers continue from her abdomen across to her hips, down her thigh, and settling at the top of the stockings before he finds the button holding the garter in place and unfastens first one, then the other. Then it's just a matter of smoothing the fabric down her legs, freeing them to be touched just as reverently as he's touched the rest of her thus far. ]
[ He traces the lines of her, makes her bare as he is, and she wants to close her eyes. She wants to keep them open. Wants to touch him, to be touched by him, to twine together and never come apart, and the magnitude of wanting leaves her breathless.
She knows there will be fire, as there was when he tried to kiss her from her daze. That all it will take is a single spark thrown out by one of them and they will burst into bright flame, but right now... right now she is made only of quietude and that all-encompassing simple want of closeness that she seeks after with the wrap of a leg around his, the bend of her head to catlike rub her nose and cheek against his shoulder, and its stretch to press her lips to throat, to just below his ear. The press of the whole of her body along his, where she holds herself to him with hands spread wide and flat against his back.
All that she can manage to speak of it is in a high and quiet helpless sound that fades into a sigh she leaves upon his skin. ]
[ This is... nice in a way that Loki would find difficult to explain. To be held, to have skin-on-skin contact, drives away some of the agitations that have settled in his bones over the years. Touch starved is the phrase that comes to mind, and he wonders at that, curious as to how it has driven him without him even being aware of it.
Every time someone touches him, it's nigh on a miracle. A small shock that collects under the skin, in his nerve endings, because... because he doesn't think he deserves their touch.
She sighs and he attempts to banish that thought, knowing it'll come back, unbidden, as many of his negative thoughts do. Still. He doesn't want to think of his many failings here and now, the various ways in which he's a broken thing that craves contact in all its forms. He'd rather focus on the not-so-small miracle of the woman in his arms, the softness of her skin and the scent of her hair; how he can feel the dampness of her breath in her sigh against him. She curls in closer and his hands settle at her hips before moving upward, fingers splayed along her ribs. Kisses the top of her head and breathes.
This is different. This is nice, and he doesn't particularly want to let loose the burning desire that still churns in the pit of his stomach just yet. ]
[ It has been a long time since her body has been still this way. She is held, and knows herself wanted; holds, and knows her want of him to be a welcomed thing. There is so little else in this world that she has truly desired, and the having of it makes her soft and heavy, pliant in his arms.
Settled as close as she can get, with the stir of his breath and lips in her hair, Alexandrie sighs her contentment again and lets her eyes drift closed on long and even breaths.
And then she finds there are words in her. Murmurs them into his skin. ]
Thank you. For being here.
[ She would go back to her rest thereafter, but the feeling of βwordsβ isnβt gone, and it feelsβ¦ important. Important enough to say, for him to know, that she opens her eyes again and tilts her head up so she can look at him with soft sincerity, speak in a quiet voice to match. ]
[ Loki makes a sharp inhale at her words, blinking rapidly.
Has anyone said anything like that to him before this moment? He thinks perhaps Thor has expressed a joy at having Loki somewhere or another, but... no one has thanked him for it before. He searches her eyes, not for proof that she means it, exactly, but because he has no idea what he should say.
Tears well up in the corner of his eyes and he shuts them to put a stop to it, but it only does the opposite, causing them to run down the sides of his cheeks. He gives his head a little shake but otherwise is speechless.
He feels he has no idea what it really means, to be here in the first place, so thoroughly removed from all that he once loved or recently found familiar. Isn't certain how long it will take him to figure that out. But she cares for him, about him, and that feels wildly precious in this moment, in a way that overwhelms him completely.
The petulant child within him wants to ask why, is she sure? Instead he opens his eyes and nods a little. ]
[ Alexandrie tears up a little in response, tucks her head against Loki's neck and runs a hand down his back to its low curve and up again in the hopes of steadying him. Presses her lips to him less to kiss and more to have another way to touch.
She will not try to soothe him more than this; more than holding, more than staying. If there is something in him that needs to cry to be wanted for simply holding her and being in her arms she wants to let it so he knows she'll hold it too. ]
[ It takes him a series of moments to pull himself together; her touch, her kisses, help him ground himself in this moment again. It helps him to not feel weak for having overwhelming feelings, the way she just allows Loki to cry without any of her own obvious distress. He swallows as he kisses her back, soft and gentle and perhaps needier than he would otherwise.
Perhaps. It's hard to say. She keeps surprising him, pulling these parts of him out into the daylight that had been content to hide in the shadows of his heart.
A sigh and he kisses her again, more heated this time, before kissing her nose, her forehead, the corners of her eyes. ]
[ The first kiss she can breathe through, can still return it with the same softness, the same quiet closeness.
The second she can't. The heat in it is an edge too much, a single step just far enough from the shore that in an instant she goes from floating on water to pulled underneath by the riptide. Is suddenly conscious of how much of her skin touches his, how closely they are wound together, and the pads of her fingers press into his back and the last breath she took comes out sound. Soft still, but unmistakable as anything but want of him.
Single tiny spark.
By the time his lips reach the corners of her eyes she has started a slow sinuous roll of her body against his, a wordlessβ and shamelessβ request for Loki to remember what she has about the way they are lying together, and her eyes, when they open, are dark and intent with desire. ]
[ A small thing can be very powerful in its effect; Loki knows this intrinsically, and yet when Alexandrie presses close and shifts her body as he kisses her, the effect is rather like an avalanche to his senses. He becomes re-aware of every place their bodies touch, every contact of skin, the way in which her touch has changed and become charged in the blink of an eye.
She looks at him with an expression full of desire, of wanting, and Loki's eyes mirror that want as he touches her cheek, hand drifting down the side of her neck, fingers skimming across her shoulder. He leans in for another kiss, this one more insistent than the last, sinking teeth into her lower lip before swiping at it with his tongue in apology. One of his thighs presses in between hers, parting her legs enough to apply some slow but steady pressure there, and his hand travels down across her side and settles at her hip. ]
[ There is a part of Alexandrie that is stunnedβ one slightly to the side of how she gasps sharply at his teeth, shivers at the gentler tongue that follows, parts legs for him, tilts hips such that his press against her sweetens and she seeks after it in tiny rocking movements against his thigh unbidden. A part that wants to ask How? How can it be like this between us, and so swiftly? but does not know to whom it should be said... if she could manage to say anything at all.
Her words are kisses, open mouthed and seeking. How she drags her fingers down his back and spreads them to caress before she's grabbing firmly for his hips to pull him tighter. The slide of her face to the side so she can rub her cheek against his before curling herself in so she can taste his neck, can follow with her tongue until it slopes to shoulder and then bite there, muffling her sounds against his skin. ]
[ If she asked he would have no good answers for her, especially not in this moment; her sounds, her movements against him do little but inspire him to cause more of the same.
Alexandrie continues to surprise him in so many ways.
She kisses him and he returns with equal energy, indulging in the taste of her mouth before she pulls him close, before she runs her tongue along his neck, before she bites him. He hisses then, fingers tensing against her skin, and that hiss breaks into a breathy chuckle. His body presses into her in response to the flash of pain, but instead of indulging his first instinct to press her into the mattress he goes with his second; to pull her even closer and roll onto his back. ]
[ But she wants to be pressed; wants to be able to wrap her legs around his waist, to be able to curl her fingers and dig nails into his shoulders, drag them down his back to make him hiss again when her lips are free to close over the sound and pull it from his mouth with her tongue.
And so when they are halfway through his roll she throws her weight to the side in an attempt to continue it, to end with him again above herβ albeit perilously close to the edge of the bed. ]
[ It works. It works too well, actually, because Loki doesn't balance himself near well enough to stop the momentum that causes him to roll towards the floor. He knows enough about how to fall not to throw an arm out, but his legs are tangled up in hers so he does hit the floor pretty solidly.
And then immediately bursts into loud laughter because it's either that or be sore about it (emotionally, physically) which seems like the lesser choice here. Either way, he's on the floor. Might as well have a good time about it.
He did manage to hold on to her well enough that he took the brunt of the fall, but it'll be a moment before he's able to draw enough breath to ask her if she's alright without laughing. ]
[ On Alexandrie's part, a short shriek of alarm as her plan backfires and sends them tumbling off the bed with a solid thud to tangle on the floor. Having fallen mostly on him, she is full of worry and chagrin until the breaths that he can pull are used in laughter.
And so she laughs, lightly touches the crinkles at the corner of his eye, and props herself up on one hand to look down at him with little crinkles of her own. ]
Dragons, look what I have wrought. You must lie there and recover whilst I make amends.
[ And giggling still with mischief in her eyes, she slides herself down him until she can nip gently at the skin above his hip bone like a question and smile up at him with raised eyebrows. ]
I don't think I have much choice in the matter, [ comes his reply, but he does take a moment to try and corral his breathing again with his hands on her shoulders. ]
Dragons, [ he murmurs to himself, and laughs again, softer this time.
Loki was always fascinated by dragons.
He lets go to allow her to move down his body, taking in a sharp but pleased breath when she bites at his skin. He folds his hands on his chest before shifting them so that he's up on his elbows to look down at her, hair in his face all over again as he nods, agreeing to whatever amends she feels the need to bring to him. ]
[ Her particular amends involve another little scrape of her teeth followed by a smile against him and a varying series of kisses that travel towards his midline. Little pecks, brushes of her lips and nose, open mouthed kisses that draw a little at his skin, all on an upward arcing path that meansβ should he part his legs to give her room to settle between them as the hand now smoothing down his inner thigh with a gentle pressure is requestingβ she can arch her back and let a breast brush along the length of him as if by accident.
Her pleased little hum as she does so implies this is not the case. ]
But of course you have choicesβ
[ She pauses in her movement, looks up at Loki innocently. ]
And I can always stopβ [ this punctuated by a light run of the tip of her tongue on himβ ] if you like.
[ Moving for her is easily done; his nostrils flare as she brushes her body against his, nerves alight all over again. Then Alexandrie licks him and he shudders, eyes heavy-lidded.
He doesn't mind the floor at all, actually. ]
Well, then. Since I have choices, [ he drawls, smiling at her, ] I choose to remain right here where I am and humbly request that you continue however you like.
[ Her smile is brightβ even smudged as it isβ as she dips her head in a courtly acquiescence that belongs more on a dance floor than on the floor before resuming the path of little kisses now heading downwards towards his other hip.
She could stay light and playful, butβ
But it is the first she does this, and Alexandrie finds she wants it very much to matter. To feel different, be different than any lover he had had before. She might share with them her practiced hand and supple tongue but what she has to give that's only hers is an earnest heart that she can show him in the way she touches him.
And so instead, when she finally lays a hand upon his cock, it is as reverent as it had been when she'd helped free him from his pantsβ a slow touch that wants to hold him, learn him. To love him. To find with lips, with fingers, flattened tongue, light touches of her teeth and nails, what pleases him. What makes him gasp, or hiss, or tense his thighs, shift hips, or moan for her.
All this she does without taking him into her mouth; waiting, waiting until eventually she murmurs ]
Show me, [ looking up at him from close enough that her lips will brush the tip of him when she speaks while she reaches for his hand to gently pull at it, encourage it into her hair, ] what it is you like.
[ He watches her, eyes dark with lust, as she touches him with such care, emotionally charged as it is, that on a different day it might drive him to look away; today, however, he keeps his eyes on her throughout, taking deep breaths to steady himself, tensing and relaxing muscles as she goes.
At her insistence his hand goes easily to her hair, fingers getting lost in riotous curls that look so different down than they had coiffed and away from her face. ]
I β [ he begins, pauses, takes a breath. ] It would be cheating, perhaps, to say that as a self-professed hedonist I like everything; it's more true to say that I've enjoyed being on the receiving end of pain more than a little bit, in the past. [ He tilts his head in her direction, offering her a one-armed shrug before he swallows. ] But I don't want this to be entirely made of those things.
You take so much care and I. I would like to feel worthy of that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Goosebumps follow in the wake of her touch despite the now mid-morning light streaming in through the windows. She kisses his palms like a benediction, something he doesn't know he'll ever expect or fully understand, and Loki fumbles with the tie for a moment before the chemise is loosened and he sits up a bit to help her out of the shift dress.
She still looks... perfectly coiffed, with her hair done up like that, and Loki reaches for where he imagines one of the pins to be before he stops, hand hovering. ]
May I?
no subject
Please.
[ Alexandrie will be patient as he feels his way through the process of releasing the coiffure that Marie had put in place, eager to feel the gentle movements of his hands in her hair; hands which will smell of roses by the time the flame of her curls cascades freely down her back.
Not too patient, however. When she thinks he is halfway done her hands will find their way to wandering idly down his chest until she can find the tie to his pants and hover there, running the ends of it through her fingers such that he will be able to feel the slow repetitive tug of her movement but it will not come undone. ]
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His fingers pause when she begins to pull at the tie holding his pants fast, as if waiting to see what she may do, but then they continue. ]
Are you waiting for me to finish? [ He asks, teasing.
That his hands smell like her hair, now, is something quite wonderful, he thinks, taking a deep breath of the perfume as he coaxes her curls to fall across her bared shoulders. ]
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I did not wish to be so distracted that I should miss the little movements of your hands.
[ She pulls again at the tie, but this time it is to loose it. ]
Nor did I wish you to be thinking of my hair when I should prefer you to be thinking of my hands.
[ Less constricted by the waist, she can slide the fingers of her other hand down Loki's side and past the cloth to splay across his hip, from there can curve her hand to run the backs of her fingers over the top of his thigh. Slows at the apex of its curve, extends fingers barely past, holds there as she watches him.
A low murmur: ]
May I?
no subject
[ Not when her fingers down his side cause a strong shudder for such a slight touch, and one that he has to take a deep breath to recollect himself from.
Loki's voice is equally quiet, but rough with wanting. ]
Please.
no subject
For more than half a thousand days she has missed the way that Loki breathes when her hands are on him. She is trying not to listen for it; trying to let this be something new, let him be something new. As new as he would like to be.
His voice on the crystal, a giant, a god, self-orphaned and desperate and far from a home he can never return to and loved. Loved. She leans to him. Presses her lips to the space at the edge of his jaw and again just below, one hand at his shoulder, the other resuming its movement until she can caress the curve of his cock, not holding so much as she curls around it like a wing; a slow exploration along it, then lifting protectively so they might slip his pants free of his body together with ease. ]
no subject
Moving closer once that's done, Loki finds his fingers brushing against her temples, smoothing across the ridge of her brows, down her nose, across her lips. His legs shift to entangle themselves with hers, even as his hands move down to explore the rest of her exposed skin. Across her collarbones, between her breasts, and down towards her belly button with the index finger of both hands before he glances towards her stockings, trying to figure out how they've managed to stay up through all this before he spots what must be the method of securing them peeking out from where they are rolled at the top.
That just means that his fingers continue from her abdomen across to her hips, down her thigh, and settling at the top of the stockings before he finds the button holding the garter in place and unfastens first one, then the other. Then it's just a matter of smoothing the fabric down her legs, freeing them to be touched just as reverently as he's touched the rest of her thus far. ]
no subject
She knows there will be fire, as there was when he tried to kiss her from her daze. That all it will take is a single spark thrown out by one of them and they will burst into bright flame, but right now... right now she is made only of quietude and that all-encompassing simple want of closeness that she seeks after with the wrap of a leg around his, the bend of her head to catlike rub her nose and cheek against his shoulder, and its stretch to press her lips to throat, to just below his ear. The press of the whole of her body along his, where she holds herself to him with hands spread wide and flat against his back.
All that she can manage to speak of it is in a high and quiet helpless sound that fades into a sigh she leaves upon his skin. ]
no subject
Every time someone touches him, it's nigh on a miracle. A small shock that collects under the skin, in his nerve endings, because... because he doesn't think he deserves their touch.
She sighs and he attempts to banish that thought, knowing it'll come back, unbidden, as many of his negative thoughts do. Still. He doesn't want to think of his many failings here and now, the various ways in which he's a broken thing that craves contact in all its forms. He'd rather focus on the not-so-small miracle of the woman in his arms, the softness of her skin and the scent of her hair; how he can feel the dampness of her breath in her sigh against him. She curls in closer and his hands settle at her hips before moving upward, fingers splayed along her ribs. Kisses the top of her head and breathes.
This is different. This is nice, and he doesn't particularly want to let loose the burning desire that still churns in the pit of his stomach just yet. ]
no subject
Settled as close as she can get, with the stir of his breath and lips in her hair, Alexandrie sighs her contentment again and lets her eyes drift closed on long and even breaths.
And then she finds there are words in her. Murmurs them into his skin. ]
Thank you. For being here.
[ She would go back to her rest thereafter, but the feeling of βwordsβ isnβt gone, and it feelsβ¦ important. Important enough to say, for him to know, that she opens her eyes again and tilts her head up so she can look at him with soft sincerity, speak in a quiet voice to match. ]
I am so glad that you are here.
no subject
Has anyone said anything like that to him before this moment? He thinks perhaps Thor has expressed a joy at having Loki somewhere or another, but... no one has thanked him for it before. He searches her eyes, not for proof that she means it, exactly, but because he has no idea what he should say.
Tears well up in the corner of his eyes and he shuts them to put a stop to it, but it only does the opposite, causing them to run down the sides of his cheeks. He gives his head a little shake but otherwise is speechless.
He feels he has no idea what it really means, to be here in the first place, so thoroughly removed from all that he once loved or recently found familiar. Isn't certain how long it will take him to figure that out. But she cares for him, about him, and that feels wildly precious in this moment, in a way that overwhelms him completely.
The petulant child within him wants to ask why, is she sure? Instead he opens his eyes and nods a little. ]
no subject
She will not try to soothe him more than this; more than holding, more than staying. If there is something in him that needs to cry to be wanted for simply holding her and being in her arms she wants to let it so he knows she'll hold it too. ]
no subject
Perhaps. It's hard to say. She keeps surprising him, pulling these parts of him out into the daylight that had been content to hide in the shadows of his heart.
A sigh and he kisses her again, more heated this time, before kissing her nose, her forehead, the corners of her eyes. ]
no subject
The second she can't. The heat in it is an edge too much, a single step just far enough from the shore that in an instant she goes from floating on water to pulled underneath by the riptide. Is suddenly conscious of how much of her skin touches his, how closely they are wound together, and the pads of her fingers press into his back and the last breath she took comes out sound. Soft still, but unmistakable as anything but want of him.
Single tiny spark.
By the time his lips reach the corners of her eyes she has started a slow sinuous roll of her body against his, a wordlessβ and shamelessβ request for Loki to remember what she has about the way they are lying together, and her eyes, when they open, are dark and intent with desire. ]
no subject
She looks at him with an expression full of desire, of wanting, and Loki's eyes mirror that want as he touches her cheek, hand drifting down the side of her neck, fingers skimming across her shoulder. He leans in for another kiss, this one more insistent than the last, sinking teeth into her lower lip before swiping at it with his tongue in apology. One of his thighs presses in between hers, parting her legs enough to apply some slow but steady pressure there, and his hand travels down across her side and settles at her hip. ]
no subject
Her words are kisses, open mouthed and seeking. How she drags her fingers down his back and spreads them to caress before she's grabbing firmly for his hips to pull him tighter. The slide of her face to the side so she can rub her cheek against his before curling herself in so she can taste his neck, can follow with her tongue until it slopes to shoulder and then bite there, muffling her sounds against his skin. ]
no subject
Alexandrie continues to surprise him in so many ways.
She kisses him and he returns with equal energy, indulging in the taste of her mouth before she pulls him close, before she runs her tongue along his neck, before she bites him. He hisses then, fingers tensing against her skin, and that hiss breaks into a breathy chuckle. His body presses into her in response to the flash of pain, but instead of indulging his first instinct to press her into the mattress he goes with his second; to pull her even closer and roll onto his back. ]
no subject
And so when they are halfway through his roll she throws her weight to the side in an attempt to continue it, to end with him again above herβ albeit perilously close to the edge of the bed. ]
no subject
And then immediately bursts into loud laughter because it's either that or be sore about it (emotionally, physically) which seems like the lesser choice here. Either way, he's on the floor. Might as well have a good time about it.
He did manage to hold on to her well enough that he took the brunt of the fall, but it'll be a moment before he's able to draw enough breath to ask her if she's alright without laughing. ]
no subject
And so she laughs, lightly touches the crinkles at the corner of his eye, and props herself up on one hand to look down at him with little crinkles of her own. ]
Dragons, look what I have wrought. You must lie there and recover whilst I make amends.
[ And giggling still with mischief in her eyes, she slides herself down him until she can nip gently at the skin above his hip bone like a question and smile up at him with raised eyebrows. ]
no subject
Dragons, [ he murmurs to himself, and laughs again, softer this time.
Loki was always fascinated by dragons.
He lets go to allow her to move down his body, taking in a sharp but pleased breath when she bites at his skin. He folds his hands on his chest before shifting them so that he's up on his elbows to look down at her, hair in his face all over again as he nods, agreeing to whatever amends she feels the need to bring to him. ]
no subject
Her pleased little hum as she does so implies this is not the case. ]
But of course you have choicesβ
[ She pauses in her movement, looks up at Loki innocently. ]
And I can always stopβ [ this punctuated by a light run of the tip of her tongue on himβ ] if you like.
no subject
He doesn't mind the floor at all, actually. ]
Well, then. Since I have choices, [ he drawls, smiling at her, ] I choose to remain right here where I am and humbly request that you continue however you like.
no subject
She could stay light and playful, butβ
But it is the first she does this, and Alexandrie finds she wants it very much to matter. To feel different, be different than any lover he had had before. She might share with them her practiced hand and supple tongue but what she has to give that's only hers is an earnest heart that she can show him in the way she touches him.
And so instead, when she finally lays a hand upon his cock, it is as reverent as it had been when she'd helped free him from his pantsβ a slow touch that wants to hold him, learn him. To love him. To find with lips, with fingers, flattened tongue, light touches of her teeth and nails, what pleases him. What makes him gasp, or hiss, or tense his thighs, shift hips, or moan for her.
All this she does without taking him into her mouth; waiting, waiting until eventually she murmurs ]
Show me, [ looking up at him from close enough that her lips will brush the tip of him when she speaks while she reaches for his hand to gently pull at it, encourage it into her hair, ] what it is you like.
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At her insistence his hand goes easily to her hair, fingers getting lost in riotous curls that look so different down than they had coiffed and away from her face. ]
I β [ he begins, pauses, takes a breath. ] It would be cheating, perhaps, to say that as a self-professed hedonist I like everything; it's more true to say that I've enjoyed being on the receiving end of pain more than a little bit, in the past. [ He tilts his head in her direction, offering her a one-armed shrug before he swallows. ] But I don't want this to be entirely made of those things.
You take so much care and I. I would like to feel worthy of that.
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