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 means— 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 requesting— 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 choices—
[ She pauses in her movement, looks up at Loki innocently. ]
And I can always stop— [ this punctuated by a light run of the tip of her tongue on him— ] 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 bright— even smudged as it is— 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, but—
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 pants— 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 — [ 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.
[ The phrasing makes Alexandrie pause, on this sunlit morning. Makes her look at Loki with hawklike curiosity. Surely, in a thousand years—
But if he had not trusted, if the hands that hurt him had not loved—
She sits up then, high on her knees, and moves to straddle him. To take his face in gentle hands and curve down to kiss his forehead, then speak there as she threads her fingers slowly into his hair. ]
No [ comes the simple answer, with Loki shaking his head once. His hand moves from her hair to her shoulder before dropping away to settle at her waist now that she's so close. ] Care has not necessarily been... a matter of course.
[ He knows it doesn't say anything good, precisely, about his past experiences, but. He courted that reality as much as he accepted it. ]
[ There is a single moment where she wants the blood of everyone who’s ever laid a hand on him to harm. Then they become irrelevant. Then everything becomes irrelevant except what is Loki: the smooth of her thumb over his cheek, his skin beneath her lips once more before she pulls back to look at him as if with her gaze alone she could fold wings around him. ]
It need not be now, but—
I will show you, if you wish it.
[ it’s said as gentle and sure as her fingers are upon his face. ]
[ Being this close means he gets to marvel at the expressions that flicker across her face. The anger, fleeting but bright, replaced by that selfsame caring once more.
He feels unworthy of either.
Loki searches her face for some sign that she doesn't mean it. It's not there. ]
I do wish it.
[ He's never been one to turn down similar offers once presented. This is the same.
[ He considers that for a moment. There is little he hasn't done, and enjoyed on some level, and yet. Loki's mind flashes to the scene of his death at the hands of the Mad Titan and he draws a breath, momentarily unsettled. ]
[ Another nod, another soft stroke of his cheek, this time accompanied by a light press of her lips against his forehead as if it could could banish whatever thought, whatever experience he'd had that would unsettle him.
[ His first thought is that he is certain he will not need to do so.
His second is that this, perhaps, is why she's extracting this promise from him in the first place; his presumption that his own suffering is not as important as the goal, whatever the goal may be. Loki bites into his bottom lip and nods. ]
[ She looks at him, at the change of the thought in his eyes, until she sees something that satisfies her. And then Alexandrie closes her eyes.
One long breath, two.
When she opens them again she too is the same and different. Her fingers remain gentle, but there is something still and purposeful in them. That there is care in her eyes is unchanged, but her gaze now holds the same raptorial sharpness of her curiosity. Unlike her curiosity, its intensity is not a brief visitor; she tracks his every heartbeat from the sky. ]
There are two more questions. Ones I cannot ask until I am as I am now.
[ Her voice is lower, smooth and steady; a far cry from her fluttering airy ease, but still recognizably hers. The way she holds his face less feather-touch, more something that might be leaned on. ]
Then, something changes. The weight of her gaze on him is heavier, now, more intent, more intense. Something drops a bit in his stomach, settles in his chest.
It should surprise him, he thinks, that she could be like this and so easily, that he could observe the changes in her face, her voice, her hand on his face, and be so much more aroused than he was just moments ago.
No, he's just enthralled by it instead. ]
It does. [ It doesn't feel unsafe, certainly, even as some part of his hindbrain is in full-throated nervous cackle, but that is all anticipation and lacking in fear.
Loki keeps his eyes on hers even as he tilts his face into her touch, rubbing his cheek along her palm. ]
[ There is an Alexandrie who would cup his cheek in answer; this is not she. Instead, she turns his face back toward her. It is neither hard nor fierce, simply correction: Pay attention. I am not finished. ]
[ A kind of warmth kindles in her to hear it, one that reaches her eyes and for a moment tempers the stark intensity of the way she looks at him. It is in the little smile she wears; a protective, possessive thing.
She bends to kiss him. For the space of a breath it is sweet, her fingers soft again as they slide into his hair to cradle the back of his head. And then she shifts; moves slightly forward on her knees to force him to tilt his head back farther and deepens the kiss. Her other hand spreads, settles thumb against the high delicacy of his cheekbone, fingers above and below his ear, the last two reaching towards the back of his neck, all curling to hold him securely as she slides from sweet to heated. Insistent.
Her lips part over his, a prompt to follow; if he is not quick enough to open for her she will bite—
[ That possessive tint to her smile settles in his bones. He is wanted, and he is wanting. Loki tilts his head back easily, one hand still at her waist. He is, however, not fast enough in his response to avoid her bite, a sharp inhale and the opening of his lips the marker of how he takes this correction.
Normally he is a bit of a brat; constantly pushing boundaries to find which ones are firm and which ones are lines in the sand at a rising tide. But he doesn't know where the boundaries lie, here, and so he is waiting to see what she'll instruct him in. How she'll cause him pain.
[ His reward for that correction is a low pleased hum, the gentle draw of the place she'd bitten his lip into her mouth so she can pass her tongue just as gently over it. A small moment of reprieve before she shifts and presses hard, kisses him as if she might devour him to keep him.
And slowly, bit by bit, the hand in his hair tightens. Until he notices. Until that secure and satisfying pull, an ache on the edge of hurting. Until it crosses that line and becomes sharp. Further; she is waiting until she thinks it tugs at his attention, until he pays her hand enough mind that he will be unprepared for her to bite again, the same place she had before. Sharp, then held clamped between unyielding teeth until she's given time for the sensation of it to change, to become diffuse, and then she lets him go; releases his lip, relaxes her hand to a supportive cradle, and pulls away to look at him and take his measure. ]
[ When he notices, when the pain of her grip on his hair cuts through the haze of kiss, Loki moans soft and needy into her mouth. He doesn't pull away from her kiss at any point. His breath comes out fast and that moan turns into a keening noise, soft and high in his throat when she bites him and doesn't let up.
His eyes are shut at first, but when he opens them the pupils are wide when she pulls away to look at him. Loki's breath comes out in heavy, short pants, and his fingers remain soft at her waist. The hand on the floor has balled up into a fist, and he sucks his bottom lip into her mouth as she watches him. ]
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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. ]
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Her pleased little hum as she does so implies this is not the case. ]
But of course you have choices—
[ She pauses in her movement, looks up at Loki innocently. ]
And I can always stop— [ this punctuated by a light run of the tip of her tongue on him— ] if you like.
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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.
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She could stay light and playful, but—
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 pants— 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 — [ 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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But if he had not trusted, if the hands that hurt him had not loved—
She sits up then, high on her knees, and moves to straddle him. To take his face in gentle hands and curve down to kiss his forehead, then speak there as she threads her fingers slowly into his hair. ]
Have you not known it then, as care?
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[ He knows it doesn't say anything good, precisely, about his past experiences, but. He courted that reality as much as he accepted it. ]
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It need not be now, but—
I will show you, if you wish it.
[ it’s said as gentle and sure as her fingers are upon his face. ]
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He feels unworthy of either.
Loki searches her face for some sign that she doesn't mean it. It's not there. ]
I do wish it.
[ He's never been one to turn down similar offers once presented. This is the same.
This will be different. ]
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I require the answers to three questions, then, and one promise.
[ She pulls back a little to look at him, solemn and sincere. ]
My husband had the use of healing magics. Do you?
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He can manage that.
The first question makes sense; there's something akin to regret in his features when he answers. ]
No, I don't.
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The second, then: ]
Is there aught you know you do not wish from me?
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Nothing around my throat. No choking of any kind.
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Third: ]
What word will you speak if you wish me to stop?
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Rabbit.
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I wish from you this promise: if you have need, you will use it.
[ Her eyes are still solemn, but there is the edge of a plea in them now. ]
I will hurt you, but I have no wish to do you harm. I need to know you will not let me, or I cannot do this.
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His second is that this, perhaps, is why she's extracting this promise from him in the first place; his presumption that his own suffering is not as important as the goal, whatever the goal may be. Loki bites into his bottom lip and nods. ]
You have my word. I'll use it, if I need to.
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One long breath, two.
When she opens them again she too is the same and different. Her fingers remain gentle, but there is something still and purposeful in them. That there is care in her eyes is unchanged, but her gaze now holds the same raptorial sharpness of her curiosity. Unlike her curiosity, its intensity is not a brief visitor; she tracks his every heartbeat from the sky. ]
There are two more questions. Ones I cannot ask until I am as I am now.
[ Her voice is lower, smooth and steady; a far cry from her fluttering airy ease, but still recognizably hers. The way she holds his face less feather-touch, more something that might be leaned on. ]
Does it feel safe, to give yourself to me?
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Then, something changes. The weight of her gaze on him is heavier, now, more intent, more intense. Something drops a bit in his stomach, settles in his chest.
It should surprise him, he thinks, that she could be like this and so easily, that he could observe the changes in her face, her voice, her hand on his face, and be so much more aroused than he was just moments ago.
No, he's just enthralled by it instead. ]
It does. [ It doesn't feel unsafe, certainly, even as some part of his hindbrain is in full-throated nervous cackle, but that is all anticipation and lacking in fear.
Loki keeps his eyes on hers even as he tilts his face into her touch, rubbing his cheek along her palm. ]
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And do you?
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Yes, I do.
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She bends to kiss him. For the space of a breath it is sweet, her fingers soft again as they slide into his hair to cradle the back of his head. And then she shifts; moves slightly forward on her knees to force him to tilt his head back farther and deepens the kiss. Her other hand spreads, settles thumb against the high delicacy of his cheekbone, fingers above and below his ear, the last two reaching towards the back of his neck, all curling to hold him securely as she slides from sweet to heated. Insistent.
Her lips part over his, a prompt to follow; if he is not quick enough to open for her she will bite—
it will not be a nip. ]
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Normally he is a bit of a brat; constantly pushing boundaries to find which ones are firm and which ones are lines in the sand at a rising tide. But he doesn't know where the boundaries lie, here, and so he is waiting to see what she'll instruct him in. How she'll cause him pain.
He looks forward to it. ]
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And slowly, bit by bit, the hand in his hair tightens. Until he notices. Until that secure and satisfying pull, an ache on the edge of hurting. Until it crosses that line and becomes sharp. Further; she is waiting until she thinks it tugs at his attention, until he pays her hand enough mind that he will be unprepared for her to bite again, the same place she had before. Sharp, then held clamped between unyielding teeth until she's given time for the sensation of it to change, to become diffuse, and then she lets him go; releases his lip, relaxes her hand to a supportive cradle, and pulls away to look at him and take his measure. ]
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His eyes are shut at first, but when he opens them the pupils are wide when she pulls away to look at him. Loki's breath comes out in heavy, short pants, and his fingers remain soft at her waist. The hand on the floor has balled up into a fist, and he sucks his bottom lip into her mouth as she watches him. ]
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bless
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