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June
We’re bored.
You roll your eyes and take refuge in the shade, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead. “We’re fine.”
The muscle beneath your eye twitches. Not from your own genuine irritation―he knows it annoys you. And so, he plucks at it.
“Stop it.”
Then take us back inside.
Leaving your apartment in this heat was a mistake, but you’re not about to admit it. You’d already been locked away for weeks, getting used to your… roommate. It’s temporary! he’d insisted that very first night when you both thrashed for control, running into table corners and tripping when you each tried to stand up leading with the opposite leg. This is a mistake! I’ll get my magic back soon, and once I do, we’ll be rid of each other!
The adjustment period had been a bitch. Pacing around your apartment after the accident, waiting to see if the Stark helicopters would show up, had been a bitch. Getting used to an ex-god’s metabolism? Bitch. If you never saw another package of Ramen in your life, it would be too soon.
But not masturbating?
That wasn’t a bitch. That was hell.
You just couldn’t do it with Loki there. Not that you’d tried, but it just felt wrong. Maybe it was a violation of your privacy, or his, but three weeks ago this body was yours. Now it was shared space. Your favorite vibrator? Sitting lonely in your nightstand. Your favorite bookmarks on AO3? Tragically unvisited. You hadn’t even felt the glide of your own fingers since it happened. But you just couldn't shake it: masturbating in front of Loki, or with Loki, or whatever… It felt like crossing a line. One you wouldn’t be able to back away from.
You’d just wanted to get out for a bit, burn off some of this excess energy. Stretch your legs and clear your head. Was that so much to ask?
We’re bored, and we’re sweating. I was a frost giant before this, you know. We’re uncomfortable.
You hear the grimace in his voice. That ridiculously distracting silk-and-gravel voice that lives inside your head, literally rent free.
Apparently clearing your head was too much to ask.
“You’re bored,” you grit through your teeth, grateful no one’s around to watch you talking to yourself. “I told you we were doing this, Loki, so just humor me.”
You said we were hiking. This is not hiking, mortal. This is baking. Melting. Practically dripping—
“I get it! Look, I know the forecast said it would be warm. I just… didn’t think it would get this humid this quickly, okay? I need a minute to catch my breath and cool down. Just take in the scenery for a minute. Quietly.”
The sun is bright and intense where it breaks through the heavy green canopy of leaves. Even here, the air is thick and damp, the humidity clinging to you like cobwebs. You find a spot a little ways off the trail, sinking down at the base of a sturdy tree and stretching your legs out in front of you. You just need a minute. Just a minute to catch your breath and cool down.
You don’t get a minute.
Loki is quiet for exactly thirteen seconds.
And you’ve brought no water for us, either.
“Quietly, Loki.”
You don’t even remember what quiet is, now that Loki’s taken up residence… well… inside you. When the Asgardian ship plummeted from the sky, bringing meteors and magic down with it, you hadn’t thought to run. You’d just stood there, hypnotized as colors you’d never seen burned in the atmosphere. You hadn’t even recognized the thing that crawled from the wreckage as Loki, hadn’t thought to step away until he was wrapping himself around you, your brain and body short-circuiting as he plunged into every pore and you burned just as bright and loud and terrifying as that wreckage.
And now? Now he’s always in your head, offering commentary that sounds just as sinful as it does decadent. A constant drag of that silken voice inside you, always just up against your ear, infuriatingly tempting. It’s made your masturbation moratorium that much harder to honor.
You’re quite bossy for a Midgardian. Such a forceful little tongue.
You grind your teeth, thighs twitching together. Just a fraction. He needs to be quiet. You really need him to be quiet.
“I just need a minute to cool down, so just… hush.”
Oh? Are we warm?
“You know we are. Now give it a rest.”
You feel the shift, a petulant squirming in your chest that makes you wince. He knows you hate when he does that, moving around inside you so freely.
“I didn’t know ex-gods were such pouters.”
How dare you. I am still a god, you insolent little thing.
“Are you, though?”
A growl.
Fuck, that growl.
And despite the way the heat seems to thicken your blood and weigh in your bones, despite the heaviness of the humidity curling up inside your lungs with every breath, you shiver.
And Loki?
Fuck, Loki notices.
You know he notices from the way your skin begins to prickle, goosebumps rising up along your arms and legs, just hard enough to pinch. He’s there, just beneath your skin, feeling you from the inside. It’s the most subtle pressure, a long, languid caress that doesn’t so much move through you as shimmer, a tight, rippling echo as Loki is suddenly very aware of your body.
No. Not just aware. Fixated, his attention like tiny shocks dancing over your skin, making your breath hitch.
You shiver again, letting your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.
Oh? What was that, little thing? We certainly aren’t cold. And while he insisted just a moment ago that he was bored, he doesn’t sound bored. Far from it. In fact, he sounds delighted, a slight lilt in his voice that makes you think he’s paying far more attention than he should be.
And fuck, you need him to be quiet. You try not to listen. Because listening gets you in trouble. Listening leads to that throbbing between your thighs, the hot, hungry ache that’s getting harder to ignore.
And if you can’t ignore it, there’s no chance he won’t.
Oh? What’s this?
Fuck!
You feel the grin in his voice, your skin flaring hot and cold all at once, intensely sensitive as he takes inventory of where and how you ache. The humidity in the air is like warm breath smoothing over you. It feels like his fingers are trailing down your arms, like they’re wrapping around your wrists and giving a firm, authoritative squeeze to keep you still.
And you don’t mean to do it. You don’t. But as the low, rich sound of his laughter laps through you, you lock a whine behind your teeth, and rub your thighs together.
Ohhh, pet. Now I see.
You’re hot all over, across your chest and the backs of your thighs, your heartbeat quick and hard in your ears and in the tip of your nose. It almost, almost smothers the sensation of how wet you are already, how swollen. Just from the way his voice fills you up like incense, like holy smoke born of sacrifice.
Mmm. Is all this for me, pet?
He moves again, this time sending those ripples along the outsides of your thighs, making you press them harder together. You lose a tatter of breath to the warm, sticky air, head lolling back as he moves you from within, dragging your thighs together over and over, sending the tiniest, slickest licks of friction through your clit.
Darling. If this was what you wanted…
There’s a distinct pressure on your throat, the phantom feeling of long, elegant fingers pressing there, holding your head in place.
You only needed to ask.
You groan, hips arching up as his voice floods through you, wildfire and lightning striking your blood.
Is this what you’ve been hiding from me, pet? A warm, hungry cunt for me to indulge in? So sticky and messy for me.
He moves your thighs harder, but no faster, those teasing drags becoming more focused. More urgent. The pulsing in your skin flares somehow hotter and you stutter out a groan in the shape of his name, grinding up and up against nothing, desperate for more of that phantom friction.
Yes, pet, that’s it. Just a little more…
A crash in the underbrush sends you bolting upright, jerking your thighs apart.
You don’t understand the litany of curses swimming in your head, but the hiss inside you is all adrenaline velvet and the seethe of interruption.
You gape at the half-dressed couple, their giggling cut off as they gape back at you.
“Shit, we’re so sorry!” the taller woman says, reaching to drag her girlfriend’s shirt back into place. “We didn’t think anyone was here.”
Loki growls in your head. Send them away. The muscle beneath your eye twitches, but now, it’s accompanied by a decidedly deeper twitch, this one in your upper thighs, the soft curve just outside the slick, puffy lips of your cunt, nudging your legs back together. We were here first.
We.
It hasn’t bothered you before, the way he says it, but…
But…
But there’s a hunger in his voice, a desperation shaded by that roughness and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to make yourself focus.
You have to bite harder to make yourself resist.
“Uh, no! No, it’s ok. I was just leaving.” You force yourself up, dusting off the backs of your legs, ignoring the renewed stream of cursing in your head.
Where are we going? Mortal, you can’t leave now! Wait… are we going home?
Oh, he positively curls inside you, using that same trick from your eye to pluck at your nipples, quick, precise drags that nearly have you doubling over. Yes, let’s go home. Show me exactly what this delectable body can do.
The couple watches as you stagger around them, mouth agape, a new sheen of sweat on your forehead that has nothing to do with the heat.
You don’t go home. You go everywhere but home. The pharmacy. The grocery store. The library. The pharmacy again. The new pizza place, enduring Loki’s vitriol when you burn the roof of your mouth.
You endure a lot of his vitriol, actually, though it fades into a suspicious sort of silence as you keep yourself moving.
You almost feel guilty. Almost. But the fact of the matter is, you’re not going to fuck Loki. Or masturbate with Loki. Whatever this would be, you’re not doing it.
Because there is no we, and you know it. And fucking Loki, fucking yourself with Loki inside you… it’ll just smudge that barrier. And the idea of blurring barriers with Loki?
It terrifies you, and you don’t quite understand why.
July
We’re sweating.
You huff, backing out of the kitchen with the Swiffer in-hand. Your fan spins madly overhead, circulating the smell of lavender floor cleaner and dryer sheets from the other room.
Cleaning during a seemingly unbreakable heatwave was its own special kind of hell, but you can’t stop.
You absolutely cannot stop.
You missed a spot.
Your eye twitches.
“Stop that.”
That was you, pet. I’m merely an innocent bystander.
You growl, rucking your tank top up and tying it off just under your breasts. “Innocent, yeah right. And you don’t have to be a bystander. You could help, you know.” You rub at the knot between your shoulders, skin slicked with sweat. “Can’t you flick my adrenal gland or something? Help keep me going while I finish this up?”
Oh, pet, I would love to flick our―
“Nope!”
You dive back into Swiffering, arms and stomach muscles straining as you pour all your energy into it. Loki sighs in your head, but says nothing.
You’re relieved.
Because it’s getting harder and harder to say no.
The day in the woods brought out something different in Loki. He’s still a haughty little shit, but he’s so much more… attentive. You’ll get a flood of goosebumps while you’re moving around the apartment, his attention focused and severe. You’ll just be out running errands or cooking dinner and you’ll just feel nice all of a sudden, just centered and soft with a warm glow of contentment. You swear even your skin is smoother, hair healthier, nails never seem to chip. You just feel good.
So good you have to dance.
And Loki.
Well.
Loki likes it when you dance. Before the Swiffering, your skin went to prickles as you shimmied and swayed to the music, hips rocking, singing along with all this newfound goodness inside you.
It didn’t take long before you felt the familiar press of phantom fingertips at your throat, just over your pulse point, nipples suddenly full and aching, that familiar throb kicking up between your thighs.
Loki all but sighed in your ear.
We feel so good, don’t we? Wouldn’t it feel so nice to let me trail this lovely hand of ours here, down where we’re warm and wet?
Wouldn’t it, pet?
Aren’t we happy?
It’s the happy that gets you. And the we. Always the we.
You jerk, flailing to turn off the music.
And now you were stress-cleaning, or more accurately, sexual-tension-cleaning, like your life depends on it.
Or, you had been.
Your apartment now sits spotless. And you? You’re drenched in sweat and sore, desperate for a shower.
You glance at the bathroom door.
“You gonna behave?”
I always behave, little thing.
“You know what I mean.”
You feel a shiver inside you, deep in your belly. It’s that feeling you get when you’ve been laughing too hard, when you’re all spun out on happy tension. He mimics it perfectly, casting it all through you like constellations.
I’ll be a perfect gentleman.
“You’d better.”
The water’s too warm for this kind of heat, but the spray of it feels heavenly on that knot in your shoulders. You stand still, letting the water press and fall, washing away sweat and tension alike.
But not all the tension.
And Loki notices. Because Loki always notices.
There’s another shiver, a chilly zip up through your muscles before that damn knot in your shoulders bunches. You groan as it seizes, your hand shooting out to steady yourself against the shower wall.
“Loki, what are you—”
Hush. Let me help.
He does.
It’s not quite the feeling of fingers. It’s deeper than that, not a press into the muscle but an unbraiding, all that soreness being set free from the inside. Your shoulders sag like they’ve been cut apart, arms going slack and your muscles just loosen and loosen.
It takes a full minute before you realize you’re moaning.
Another few seconds before your skin prickles again.
Across your scalp.
Down your jaw, curling against your throat.
Gliding over your collarbones before dragging down, not over your nipples this time but just around them, a perfect tease of pressure that mimics the feel of sucking. You gasp, pressing into the mouth that isn’t there, and the prickle trails again. Just beneath your breasts. Across the glide of your belly. Lower and lower, skimming your lower lips, a soft, insistent stroking that makes the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end.
Let me help, Loki says again. And that voice. That voice is in your ears and in your head, a physical sensation that pours over you like honey. There’s a nudge at your knee, a twitch as Loki takes control and shifts, spreading your legs wide.
You feel Loki shudder as the water trickles down against your cunt, warm and just a touch too soft.
We need this, he breathes, and now that prickle, that irresistible twitch, is right above your clit. The tease of a fingertip, if he had one.
We’ll feel so good.
You hear yourself gulp, hips rocking forward just a fraction. You catch the movement and gasp. “Was that you?”
Oh no, darling. That was all you.
And now? Oh. Now he twists inside you like smoke, like promises made too late in the night, and that twitch is soft and gentle and right behind your clit, branching out and applying the most exquisite pressure all through you.
Your chests hitches around your heated, wanting moan. He’s inside you, but not. He’s rolling your nerves like they’re his own, an impossibly precise stroking that surrounds you completely. It’s heat and pressure and pleasure, coiling tight and hot and perfect.
“Loki...” His name is no more than breath, no more than panting against the steam. It hurts. It hurts because you’re empty, because you need more.
Show me how wet you are, darling.
You hand moves because he wills it, sliding over your breasts, giving each nipple a perfect, mean pinch before he dips your hand between your legs. He teases your swollen, aching clit for only a moment before sliding your fingers, wide and flat, against your cunt, spreading slick over your skin.
Pet…
His voice. His feral fucking voice is all through you like lightning, like incense, and he curls your fingers for you, dipping two inside while he uses the meat of your palm to rub and rub and rub against your clit.
All this. All of this. And he twists. Something inside you that isn’t you pushes just there where your fingers are, spongy and sensitive but so hot, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt, and you realize it’s him. Your pleasure and his colliding, your fingers pulsing and pulsing against that maddening spot, under his control.
The ground rushes up to meet you as you crash to your knees.
“Oh fuck! Loki, oh fuck!”
You rock your hips down, thrusting to meet each lucious drag of your fingers, your palm on the outside of your clit and Loki pulsing from inside. The sound of slick and skin fill the shower, your free palm squeaking on the wall as you fuck your own hand at Loki’s whim.
More, little thing. More!
Loki growls, sparks of heat igniting in your head, in your cunt, in your chest. Yes, that’s it pet. Spread that dripping cunt for me. Fuck yourself open on those precious fingers. Wider, wider for me.
He slips a third finger in and you howl.
Come for me, pet. He’s gasping inside you, voice nothing but ash and satin in your ears and in your veins. Come for us, we need it we need it we need—
You hear it again. Even in this haze, you hear it.
You tear your hand from your cunt, collapsing to your hands and knees.
What are you doing?! No, don’t stop now!
You pant and groan, hips still rocking, chasing the pleasure you’d ripped away. You’re so wet your thighs slide when you try to squeeze them together. You take three deep gasping breaths, screwing your eyes closed.
You twitch all over. Not the irritating little spasms, but severe, cruel pinches. On your ass and nipples, below your eyes, your upper arms. Rough and mean on your clit.
You can’t stop—
“I can. ”
You crank the water all the way to cold, you and Loki both shouting at the same time. You were at least expecting it. Loki hisses and withers.
Why did we stop?!
“We didn’t stop, Loki! I stopped!”
You infuriating wretch, why did you—
“Because it’s my body!”
You feel him recoil, like a cold spell crossing over you that runs far deeper than the icy water on your skin. You hunch, moving to bring your knees to your chest. “You keep saying we, Loki, but it’s not we. It’s me. You hijacked me! And you’re, what, making my skin and hair look good? Making me feel happier, and for what?”
Because I feel better when —
“Because you feel better. You feel better when I do. And what’s gonna happen when you get your body back?”
There’s a pause. A long, long pause that tells you everything you need to know.
“Exactly. I don’t know if you’re messing with my endorphins or adrenaline or what, but you’re changing me. You’re not gonna stick around to make sure my brain chemistry isn’t fried when you go. So just…” You scrub a wrist over your face, your sigh heavy and watery and so much more defeated than you want. “So just stop, okay? Leave my brain alone, and leave my body alone. It’s not gonna matter once you’re gone.”
For once, Loki is silent. He stays that way as you exit the shower and towel off, aggressive enough to make your skin sting.
He stays silent as you eat dinner. When you fidget and watch tv, only half paying attention.
You wait for him to say the show doesn’t make sense, or ask why you’ve selected this particular drivel.
He doesn’t.
He’s silent when you go to bed.
You don’t even feel him twitching.
It bothers you that you miss it.
August
“Are we pouting?”
Loki makes a rough, irritated sound that catches on your nerves, bits of gold snagging in a sieve.
I do not pout.
The former God of Lies is a terrible fucking liar. He absolutely does pout.
But so do you. And you do as you stare down the neck of the sweating bottle into your beer. It’s your fifth one, and it was cold for all of two minutes before the heat and humidity flattened its fizz, leaving only your first few pulls refreshing.
Not that you feel any of it the way you need to. Alcohol does precious little for you these days, with Loki still dominating your metabolism.
“I didn’t want to do this either, okay?” Spoken into the bottle so no one will see you talking to yourself. It doesn’t matter; not really. You’re off in the flickering shadows, away from the crowd, seated with your back to the revelry on a giant dried-out piece of driftwood. “You think I want to be at a beach bonfire when it’s this gross out?” Not even the snap of air off the ocean is enough to cool you down for long, even with your sundress offering a reprieve to your cleavage and thighs. Between the still-relentless heat, your mood, and Loki’s new devotion to using I and you and me —never, never we, not anymore—you’re warm and tense and irritable. You don’t care about this party, some friend of a friend of a friend getting engaged. You just want to go home and put your feet up and…
Fuck, you want to come.
It’s been so long, too long. Your teeth vibrate with the need of it. Your body’s primed, constantly on-edge.
Your blood is too hot, your skin too sensitive. You want the full, thick stretch of your cunt being filled. You’re stir crazy inside your own skin, so much so that if Loki would just ask, would just insinuate, you’d say yes.
But he won’t ask.
He won’t, because you told him not to.
He’s kept last month’s promise in the worst possible way. He’s been a perfect gentleman, and you hate it. No twitches. No tingles. No prickles. No heat or want or desire. Not even any fun—he didn’t even comment when you didn’t bother to throw on panties before leaving the apartment for the night.
You want Loki back. You want his attention on you, to hear his voice all through you like that day in the shower. It’s been a boring, lifeless, listless month of near-solitude with him keeping to himself.
There’s been no banter or endless questions about why you’re doing this, or what drew you to that.
And fuck it. Fuck everything. You still miss him.
You miss him, and you want to come so bad.
It only adds to the pressure, this horrible, steady rise of anticipation, a wave that won’t break.
You tip your head back and finish your beer in a few hard swallows, pulling off to wipe the back of your hand over your mouth as you chuck the bottle against the sand.
It’s so hot. It’s so humid, so sticky and thick. And you’re around all these drunk, giddy, sweaty people when you want to be drunk, giddy, and sweaty at home, not quite alone.
You lean back, spreading your legs toward the ocean. A soothing rush of cooler air caresses the warm skin of your inner thighs, dragging like a kiss across your exposed folds, gone damp and sticky from a very different heat.
You shiver.
You whimper.
Just a little.
Just enough.
And Loki?
Loki, who has been a rudely polite shadow in your blood.
He notices.
He finally notices.
You feel that familiar prickle in your skin, a cool rush of pins and needles down your spine.
What are you doing?
You hum, trying to sound sleepy. “Trying to cool down. What are you doing?”
There’s a long, long drag of silence. So long you think he’s not going to answer. You twitch, begin to pull your legs together, when he twitches back.
Twitches your legs open wider.
I can feel it, you know. I’ve felt it all night. How slick you are. How swollen.
You swallow hard, breath hitching, heart rabbiting in your throat. “H-have you?”
Yes. You may have been fighting this, little thing, but I have been ready for a very long time.
Another pause. This one accompanied by a warmth in your stomach. A soft, sweet pressure in your chest.
You’re so warm. Heated, inside and out. There’s so much pressure, pet. Aren’t you tired of this?
Fuck.
There’s an edge in his voice, pitching it from its usual lazy roughness into something harder. Impatient and dark as pitch.
His voice wraps around your name, chiding when you don’t answer, and he’s suddenly smoldering inside you, an ember glowing and pulsing between your thighs, licking out with a sound that isn’t laughter, though he is amused. Amused because you squirm.
“Yeah. Yes. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
His laugh echoes in your head, in your veins, through every part of you, that dark, laving kiss of a voice caressing you from the inside.
Use your words, little thing. Tell me how you hurt.
It’s been agony. Three long, brutal months, each one hotter and heavier than the last as summer pulled itself over you, with Loki whispering in your ear. So many whispers as you begged him to stop.
But now? Now you think if he stops, you’ll disintegrate.
You rock your hips up, just a fraction, giving a pained little whimper.
“I… I was wrong, Loki. Fuck, it hurts so bad.”
Where?
You gulp, lips starting to tremble. “H-here. My… my cunt. Please, I feel so empty.”
And what would you like me to do about that, little thing?
You arch your hips, eyes slipping closed as he takes control and spreads your legs a fraction wider.
“Anything. Everything. Please, Loki.”
You don’t hear his low, rumbling chuckle. You feel it, a reverberation all through your skin and in your bones.
In your cunt. A slow, velvety clench with each soft percussion of his laughter.
You whine.
Tell me, pet. Tell me what you need.
It’s so hot.
It’s so hot, inside you and through you and all around you.
“Fuck me. Please.”
There’s a moment where you think he’ll ask you to obey him. Where he’ll goad you and guide you like he has before.
He does not.
Now, as you spread your legs for him, willing him to ask, he does not ask.
He commands.
Rub your thighs together, pet. Slow. Slow like that day in the woods.
He releases his hold, allowing you to squeeze your thighs hard enough to strain, to hurt, and fuck, you feel him purr for you as you clench press in against your clit, lightning and fire in your skin, seeping down and down to catch in your blood and spread all through you like a stain.
Fuck, even at this tease of pressure, you feel hot and swollen, the humidity and weight in the air settling in your cunt, in your lungs, there in the dark, heaving cavern of your chest where you swear you can feel him, moving through your lungs, as if you’re meant to breathe him and him alone.
The ex-god rumbles out another laugh, and you feel a tension around your throat: four cold points on one side, and one on the opposite, giving one firm squeeze.
You think you’ve earned it, little thing? Do you think I should let you come now, after you’ve denied me for so long?
And suddenly, you know. And you have a feeling that you know because he allows it: he’s been waiting for this. For you. His silence. His ease. His refusal to manipulate your body. It’s all been leading to this: luring you out into open water.
He’s been swimming beneath you the whole time.
Oh no, little thing. You won’t come until I do.
You whimper, the pressure on your throat increasing as you push your thighs together in one last grasp at control.
Beg me. Beg me to fuck you.
Shit, fuck, you’re so hot it hurts, so swollen and slick and sore, and your thighs are sliding together, such an easy glide from how wet you are, and you don’t want it, you don’t―you need it. You’ve been so good and so patient and you’ve waited so long ―
Too long, my pretty girl. My eager, hungry little mortal. One word. Just one.
Say it.
Say it!
“Please!”
You choke it out into the night air, hard and flat against your own ears.
But the sound Loki makes?
It’s wolfcall. It’s predation. It’s hunger and want and the sound of denial shattering and it’s all through you, burning, scorching as he fills your senses with him and only him.
You taste torrential rain and driving snow. You hear waves smashing themselves to spume against rocks. You still hear him in your head and that voice and he fills your mind with a smile, bright and wicked and leering, demanding, and it’s his. You know it’s his, how he’s looking at you even now, eyes a vast and bottomless green, as unforgiving as the sea. You know without turning, can feel the blaze of emerald as he wraps in around you, behind you, inside you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.
And you? You are nothing but a fragile being on the beach, wading out into his storm.
The pressure on your throat becomes a band, no longer the imitation of fingertips, but one long coil to hold you in place.
Because suddenly, he’s there. Really, truly there, not only inside you but behind you.
There’s the lush, thick, tugging in your skin as his form detaches from yours. You can’t see it, not truly, not shrouded in the dark, but you see sparks of unnatural light that make your eyes hurt. It happens with a shiver, yanking a guttural, animal noise from your chest that only makes his newly-formed mouth grin against the soft skin where your shoulder and throat meet. It’s overstimulation at the first brush of contact, too much too soon and all at once. It’s like salve on a burn, the first breath of air after too long underwater: soothing, while exquisitely amplifying the ache.
He shushes you, and even as he slides his body from yours, hot and solid and overwhelming, his voice is still in your head. Hush, sweet girl. I’ll give you what you need.
You can feel his breath, hot and slow against you, the only warning you get before his long, long tongue lances out to lick the salt from your throat. I’m going to slide this tongue inside you, little thing. I’m going to taste every part of you. Every curve and crevice of this sweet, dripping little cunt.
But not yet.
Now, I’m going to take what I’m owed.
And a moment after that, you feel the graze of his teeth in the meat of your shoulder.
Not as a phantom. Not as a ghost. You feel him tear into you with that sliding, ripping pleasure-pain and you scream into the night air, the sound ratting into a hungry groan no more solid than the flickering firelight. He won’t let you move, not truly. You look down between your legs and see his skin flash black in the firelight, the embodiment of his new form: darker than the space between the stars, flaring emerald where it catches the light. He feels like water and silk and velvet against your throat and between your legs, sliding against you, but no harder. Oh no. He will not relent that easily.
Is this what you wanted, little thing? Is this why you laid yourself bare to me tonight? You wanted me to see how hungry your cunt is for me?
And what can you do but answer? What can you do but obey? “Yes. Yes!”
There’s another pull of his form detaching and you feel him rut against you, long and hard and thick. Oh god, you can’t possibly… he can’t…
Oh, I can, my sweet. I can.
You feel him nudge inside and it’s not human. Not right, but better. It’s not like any cock or strap or set of fingers you’ve felt before. No, it’s heavier, somehow. Slicker, thick and tapered at the tip to prepare you for an inhuman stretch that has you grinding your teeth, screwing your eyes shut, and bearing down even as you clench around him, spreading your legs still wider to accept the gift of his cock. In slow, slippery inches, he fills you up until you’re sure he can’t possibly fill you any further. And yet.
And yet.
His skin is unimaginably, impossibly hot. And you swear, there’s a bulb, a catch, something so when he pushes in completely, you feel him snag on every spot inside, and then he shifts, grazing up.
And hits something new. Something that’s not only yours, not anymore. A soft, thick press inside you that he’s taken over, scorching not just your pleasure through your veins, but his.
He hisses in tandem with your moan.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!”
That, little thing? Right there? Even as he goads you, his own voice is breathless, ruthlessly haggard. And you know: as much as he owns you, you own him. He’s yours, and he wants this just as badly as you do.
He wants to come.
He wants you to come.
For the both of you.
You nod, frantic, waiting for him to move.
Mmm. I thought as much. If you want it darling, you’ll have to take it.
Your eyes shoot open. You can hear that grin again and fuck it only makes you throb harder.
Another black-emerald piece of him branches off, wraps tight around your thighs and crawls higher, moves to drag slow, rough, devastating circles over your clit.
Fuck yourself on me. But remember… one wrong move, and your friends will see.
You glance back over your shoulder, teeth clicking together as you watch the others dance and laugh, moving together as you struggle to lock an animal noise in your chest.
You can feel him waiting, hovering just inside you, just outside your skin, body crowding yours in every way as he watches. Waiting. Waiting to see how bad you want this.
But you know, don’t you?
You don’t want it. You need it.
And so you obey. You do it because the pressure’s so good and it’s right there and that cock of his is so snug and tight inside you.
You use your leverage. Begin to rock. Back and forth, slowly, much more slowly than you want, but oh, yes, it’s perfect, too warm and too tight and too much of everything you need. You feel him slide out and back in as you move, the delicious, alien thickness of him filling you up, stretching you so wide you can’t help but let your head fall back into the strange shape of him, mouth agape to pant into the hot air. You hear the wet slide of your skin against him and you feel his growl of pleasure simmer through you, sending up sparks in its wake.
My good, sweet girl. My depraved little slut, fucking herself on shadows and nightmares for all her friends to see.
He rewards your clit with a decadent pinch, one that has your toes curling, your stomach going tight, hot and hot and near to painful.
He circles your swollen, aching clit while he lowers his lips to shoulder again, lapping at the smear of blood, at the mark he left on you. Mine, he growls. Mine now.
You tear your head back and moan, rolling your hips faster, gasping a frantic sound at the sea as it calls back, all froth and spume.
You’ve tried to hide, little thing. There is no hiding from me.
He twists again, like that day in the shower. Twists into that spot inside you that’s both yours and his and you feel it: something apocalyptic on the horizon of your skin. Painful and ready to tear you apart, so good and so sweet and so vicious.
Yes. Mine. Always mine.
His voice inside you. Through you. Yours. His. Spoken in time with your hips jerking back against him, filling you up and up and up, his cock sinking into you, circling your clit and pushing, pulsing form inside, a rhythm he’s set for you, inhuman in its intensity.
I’ll spin a galaxy inside you and make it erupt. I will gather you up and set you among the stars, and then I will set you to burn.
And he can.
He will.
Because you’re his. Your body, your cunt, your clit are his. Everything you are.
His.
His breath is sea spray, mere gasps in your head, churning into howls as you pump back and back and there! It’s there, you’re so close—
“Fuck! Loki!”
Come for us, pet. Come now!
Everything crashes. Not just you but him. The both of you together. Everything inside you collides, burning and blistering hot, electric thunder pulsing and pulsing from your body into his and back, an echo of pleasure redoubling on itself over and over and over. Your cunt spasms and stretches, contracts, squeezes, and then Loki is roaring in a voice that’s both yours and his, his own pleasure tearing out from his skin into yours and it sets you off again, the sky itself cracking in two with the severity of it.
You feel wet on your face. Heat. Slick. Your cunt hurts like it’s been bruised and you wonder why the ocean sounds so brackish.
But it’s you. It’s you, and you’re laughing and sobbing, still rocking down into the velvet shadow of Loki’s cock as he just pushes at your clit from the outside and in, that voice still rumbling in your ear.
Is that all you’ve wanted this whole time, pet? To be mine?
You don’t even hesitate. You nod, his name still falling from your lips.
You feel his own lips curl against your skin, right there against the slope of your throat.
As I said. All you had to do was ask, little thing.
And then he shifts again, the thickness of his cock sliding out of you, ignoring your little mewl of protest as he pries your legs still farther apart.
It’s not for me, he mutters, voice shivering through you like cold.
Your ears are ringing, cunt still pulsing for him. All you can manage is a breathless, “Huh?”
There’s another pull as he morphs, and suddenly, he's kneeling between your legs, panting, eyes gleaming in the dark.
Tongue still obscenely long as it laps out to drag over your sex. You hiss, trying to tug back, but he grips your ass and pulls you close, holds you steady. Your cunt throbs again as he leans in, voice still knotted all through your mind.
I don’t make us feel good for my sake. I do it for yours.
Each word accompanied by a slow, silken lapping at your cunt. That impossible tongue spreading your folks, slick and shining with come, yours and his, nudging against your clit.
I like this body, little thing. I like it because it’s yours. Because it’s you. And I’ve no intention of leaving.
You can’t help it: you rock harder against him, faster. Your head floods with the idea of this, of Loki staying inside you. Of living in you, making you feel like this. Always.
You clench around his tongue, and when he moans, it vibrates into you and through you, a shockwave of your pleasure and his.
Yes, that! There. That hitch in your breath. How your ribs move. How warm you feel right now. This is what I want, little thing. You. All of you. Everything that makes this body yours.
Your thighs twitch and tense as slips the heat of his tongue inside you, wriggling and pulsing, dragging over that spot inside that’s no longer just yours.
You taste of me. Of us. I want to see you writhe, little thing. I want to see you glow because of me.
And I will glow because of you.
He thrusts his tongue in a slow, even rhythm, something that could be a thumb rising to slide over your clit. Your head falls back, the noises you make lost to the roar of the sea and the dark as you grind up against his mouth.
That’s it. Give in, little thing. Come for me. There is no you, pet. No me. There is only we. Our cunt. Our sweat. This, right here.
We.
We.
We.
Suddenly his tongue swells. Swells and swells and pushes on that spot inside you and he won’t move, won’t let you move, simply seems to pulse and your toes are curled and your head is lolling. But it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter because the wave inside you is cresting and cresting, sweet torture as you realize you’re crashing like the waves, fingers locked in the inky blackness of his hair as you grind into his mouth, clenching and clenching, over and over and over. You scream something at the sea that might be a prayer and might be a curse, a language you don’t know, something gifted to you by the mind inside yours and the tongue still plunging between your legs, even as your orgasm wrings itself from you hard enough to leave you tattered.
And the last thing you feel is the snap before your world dissolves in pain and darkness.
August. Later.
“You’re such an asshole.”
There’s a distinct shift inside you, a weak little flinch that you know to be a shrug. Your hand moves without your permission to grab for the remote. You try to grab for it with your other hand, but Loki takes control of that, too, and soon you’re sitting on your couch with both arms folded behind your head, wriggling to get free, and you don’t need to see him to know that smug little shit is grinning.
I’ve no idea what you mean.
You huff, glancing pointedly at the cast on your ankle. “You tore my tendon! And you won’t fix it! Now I have to spend the rest of my summer hobbled because you can’t control yourself.”
Oh, I think we both know I can control myself quite well.
The nerve just below your eye twitches. “Knock it off!”
I don’t think I will, little thing.
And then you’re arching your back, mouth falling open as that phantom velvet slides across your clit, and there’s a sudden, fleeting but intense feeling like you’re filled again, his cock set firmly inside you.
“T-this…” You swallow hard, trying your best not to grunt and writhe against him. “This isn’t what laid up for the summer is supposed to mean.”
Isn’t it? I thought we could use the rest of the summer to enjoy each other. Find out how we might learn to truly coexist, the two of us.
You swallow hard, chest already starting to hitch as the emerald-black perfection of him appears in your periphery. Grinning, just as you suspected he was.
You turn your head a little, just enough to look at him, your tongue darting to wet your lower lip. “Still we?”
Your skin prickles, something that feels distinctly like a nuzzle pressing in against the healing mark on your shoulder.
Oh yes, little thing. We. There’s no getting rid of me now, is there?
And it’s like he said: you glow. And fuck it, you grin, too.
He begins to ease his way inside you again, and you know the summer can’t possibly last long enough.