Chapter Text
You meet him in a bar.
A bar, of all places - it should have been poetic; it should have been grand, to match the magnificent height of his regard for you. Next to you, perhaps only his mother and even then, grudging, rare concessions to the more human side of Loki Laufeyson.
Or Loki Odinson. Depending on what he wants to call himself at the time.
What are you? He asks you more than once, when he fails to beguile you - fails to wit and wheedle you into his bed for the fourth time. You’re not sure why he keeps coming back. You’re not sure why you keep coming back, but eventually, it becomes a kind of dance for the two of you - a back-and-forth you’re happy to see go on for as long as it can.
But you can’t take it. You end the stalemate one night yourself - ask him if he wants to come back to your ship. Your ship? Loki had assumed you might have an apartment on this rock - a hole to scurry off to - but you surprise him, again. Your sights are not set on anything so terrestrial as the ground.
Your kiss tastes like alcohol and smoke and stardust, and he has a sting to him, you think - a sickly-sweet aftertaste that sits on the back of the palate like poison. You can’t get enough of him, his clever tongue - though when he breaks from your mouth and trails it lower, you don’t complain.
Your clothes simply vanish, somehow, but you don’t care exactly how - you’re concerned only with the feel of Loki between your thighs, snaking his sweet, silver tongue through your folds, drenching you with a mix of his saliva and your slick.
He works you open with two fingers, fucks you slow ‘til you’re squirming. Then, when you’re on the verge of begging for it, he rises, strong and sinewy and blocking out the sun, and when he replaces his fingers with the blunt of his cock your knees fall open, weak.
He pushes inside you with one smooth stroke and you cry out, high and harsh; he smothers you with his palm and you bite him, feral for it; he holds you down and starts to pound into you with abandon. He pistons the length of his cock through your rippling walls and you wail, muffled by sweat and the skin of his palm.
When the fingers of his free hand work dutifully between your bodies and seat at your clit you know you’re doomed, destined to be lost to the pleasure in the vice of your cunt as it clamps down around him. You gasp and buck with the force of your orgasm and he holds you down, lips peeled back from bared teeth, his pupils blown to wide dark circles locked on your face.
You’re berry-burst wet and raw for him as he hauls his cock into you with every slam of his hips, his wiry frame caging you in without apparent effort; but you can see the cord of his pulse jumping in his neck and you know he is close.
You lift your knees, wrapping your legs high around Loki’s waist, your knees pressing into his ribs as the new angle sends him deeper down some dark path that makes you quake in your bones, atomise to fine sweet dust that fills your lungs with a shudder on every inhale. You come like you’re drunk on it, long and lazy, your body breaking apart in contracting waves that squeeze and release, squeeze and release.
Loki is caught in the smooth sweet slide of it - he buries himself deep and lets go, a feeling like a cool breeze speeding frission through his veins. He grinds to a halt, groaning, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched together before he releases - a spot inside you that fills with honeyed warmth, a contrast to his cool, dry skin.
You’re surprised when he lies with you for a while after - curled around you, almost sinuous - an arm behind your neck, drawing patterns on your stomach with his fingers. When they dip lower, you’re unsurprised. He keeps you going like that all night, and into the next day, and the next.
How is it any surprise this devotion arose - something like a flower in bloom between you, and you’re both caught in the snare of its roots. You feel wrong - like something held up on a pedestal that shouldn’t be, unpolished and raw. Loki loves it, your vulnerability is like nectar to him and your nerves are shaved raw.
It’s easy to fly away in the night. It’s harder to fly away in your thoughts.
Harder to forget those hours that stretched to days spent moving together - learning different ways to make the other come - learning their sound, their taste.
You can’t get it out of your mind.
At first it’s bittersweet, but soon enough it’s maddening. Torture. Torture you can’t get away from - and you wonder if this is his punishment, the final laugh from the trickster, Loki Laufeyson.