Work Text:
Steve pauses in the doorway of Loki’s room to light the aromatherapy candles flanking it: the soft scents of lavender, calendula, and willow—chosen for healing—rise with the flames and begin to fill the room. It’s a soothing smell, one that the special holistic physiotherapist recommended as beneficial for repairing both body and mind from severe trauma.
Loki , eyes closed, doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mind. Loki seems only to care that he is still, somehow, alive, despite being crushed for two full days a full kilometer below the surface of the Earth, moved there by a spell he took upon himself to save the rest of the team - and hence, most likely, the planet he professes to despise - from annihilation.
Steve knows Loki is awake by the rhythmic tapping of his fingertips in time with music. His nails are black now, but not from varnish. They were that color when he was pulled from deep beneath the earth, and even four months later have yet to return to normal.
The satellite station is playing swing music. Steve and Loki have danced to it many a time, in the privacy of the Tower, Loki nimble and graceful as he follows Steve's strong lead. Although Loki can lead as well, he proved when stealing Pepper away from Tony at a party and spinning her around the dance floor to an old Benny Goodman recording.
Steve watches Loki for a long, silent minute, noticing the slow rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the welcome thread of his pulse beating in the vein in his throat. Loki is currently stretched out not in a hospital bed (finally), but in a top-of-the-line, luxuriously upholstered recliner, nestled in and partially covered by real fur—a politically incorrect concession to Loki’s comfort needs, true, but Steve doesn’t care.
You couldn’t experience those two frantic days of rescue, Thor using Mjolnir and the elements to break through rock; the Hulk, bare-handed, scooping away massive amounts of dirt and stones; Iron Man going through two arc reactors’ worth of power to destroy seemingly-impermeably layers of sediment-- with SHIELD, of course, saying that helping was outside their purview beyond closing off the area to bystanders and onlookers—with Steve being the one to at last pull free a corpse, limbs crushed and flesh purpled, from the bottom of the pit they had all dug; to have that corpse suddenly begin to wail in his arms, and for that wailing to continue for three days, until SHIELD Medical finally figured out how to put Loki in a drug-induced coma—and not want to give Loki afterwards anything he damn well wanted.
Fortunately, they got away with providing vintage mink throws and a few rabbit pelts to make him happy, but Steve would have gone out and slain a dozen white tigers with his bare hands and skinned and tanned them himself if Loki had asked.
Aesir are strong, it is true, but Loki only resembles Aesir; his underlying physiology is, of course, Jotun, and Thor tells him it means Loki is well-nigh unbreakable. Steve personally thinks physiology has nothing to do with it; it's simply that, at this point in his life, for whatever reason, Loki is no longer interested in dying and it's that will that sustains him.
As disabled as Loki is right now, he certainly seems pleased to be alive. He readily accepts his limitations. No one needs to tell him not to push himself. He’s content to lounge in his chair, listen to music of all sorts, to read when he can hold a book. He refuses television or movies, saying they hurt his eyes, but it’s more likely they over-stimulate his still fragile psyche.
He sleeps a lot.
He broke down there, dark, crushed, and alone, according to the therapist, and it’s going to take a long time to put him back together. Even Loki admits it, and asks for a year or two to be back on his feet. Right now he is still conserving energy, his magic burned to cinders keeping him alive so far underground for so long, gradually losing the strength, finally allowing his legs to be crushed, his arms nearly destroyed, ultimately almost all his flesh to be pulverized, all to stay alive.
To be a gift for Steve, as far as Steve is concerned.
Loki stirs faintly, head tipping toward Steve. Steve reaches out and wraps his hand around Loki’s bony fingers and says, “Hey.” Loki’s eyes open, and he smiles, but it’s that slow, sardonic burn of a smile, wide mouth, thin lips, almost a mockery of emotion. Steve understands it and gives him a real smile in return.
Loki ‘s body might have been shattered, but mentally he’s never not been there. His first act upon finally awakening after six weeks was a sarcastic eye roll in response to Thor weeping tears of joy at his brother’s bedside. Everyone laughed, even Thor, even Steve who was hiding tears of his own.
His second act was to find Steve amid the blur of faces, and wink.
Steve leans close and asks, “You hungry?”
Loki notoriously hates most Earth cuisine. Thor actually flew off to go big game hunting, to bring back cuts of meat reminiscent of Asgardian cuisine to tempt his brother to eat. And it did work, Loki showing genuine interest in food for the first time since his exile on Earth started half a decade ago. And Loki’s still eating those reindeer steaks at least twice a week; he’s requested bear next, but the chef Tony hired (for everyone) a while back has put her foot down in an adamant “no.”
Loki shakes his head, long black braid whispering over the pillows. His hair was already long before, its wildness tamed only by his magic; now that there is none to spare for vanity, it must be cared for the old fashioned way lest it become cruelly tangled. Thor's way of connecting with Loki - and Loki's way of allowing such intimacy - is to comb and braid it daily. Steve would never say he’s jealous of their bond, but he makes a point of undoing that braid nightly, with the excuse that he’s making sure Thor will have his job to do in the morning. He knows Loki sees right through the excuse; but that means Steve is then free to run his fingers through Loki’s hair until the nightly Ambien kicks in and Loki is finally out like a light.
Loki finally answers him. “Still full from breakfast.” He is only half-voiced yet and speaks in something that can’t really be described as a whisper; but it is still his voice, his tone, albeit softer, peculiar in its restraint. The breathlessness is finally gone; he can support his air now.
Steve exaggerates his frown to make sure Loki can’t miss his displeasure; Loki’s not the only one who can speak volumes with an expression. “It’s four in the afternoon. You’ve got to be hungry.”
Loki mocks with affection. “Your ‘Captain America’s Scrambled Cheese Eggs’ were quite filling, I assure you.”
“If you’re not careful, I’ll feed you some more later. With a side of pancakes.”
“Try it, and I shall bite your fingers off.” And since Loki looks like he just might, Steve drops the subject.
Steve looks more closely at him; is it his imagination, or does Loki look a little… off this afternoon? He finally pinpoints it; there’s a slight cast to the alabaster skin that wasn’t there earlier, hectic pink highlights on Loki’s cheeks. They’ve all learned the hard way that not all returning color to their broken God’s flesh is a positive sign.
“You're flushed.” Steve reaches for the thermometer strip. “Please don't have a fever again.”
“No fever.” Loki stubbornly jerks his head away as Steve tries to adhere the strip to his forehead. The flush darkens and spreads over his face, until even his ears to the very tips are tinged with pink. “I am probably more well today than I have been since all this began.” He suddenly shifts aside, making room for another body in the recliner. “Come lay with me a bit.”
It's not a rare command--Steve can't count the naps, the nights, he’s spent by Loki’s side—so he lowers the recliner to “horizontal” and slides into the customary warm space left for him, stretching his full length along Loki’s body, just the way they both like it. But Loki doesn’t stay still like he usually does, simply appreciating the physical closeness; he begins to shift closer almost before Steve has fully situated himself, molding himself to Steve, motions careful, deliberate, delicate. Before long he’s tucked against Steve’s side—actually, almost half atop him—one arm stretching across Steve’s chest, one leg thrown over Steve’s hip, not needy but instead as if he is anchoring himself.
Hmm. Steve can’t help but immediately notice that, underneath the plush monogrammed robe Loki virtually lives in these days, he is naked. Steve’s one-hundred-percent sure that Loki was wearing pajamas earlier since he’s the one who dressed him this morning, down to the indulgent cashmere socks and the UGG slippers from Pepper. Those are gone too, he sees, now that Loki has shaken off all the furs covering him.
Steve’s mind jumps back to fever again, despite Loki’s protests, and wonders if Loki stripped almost everything off because he was too warm. “Are you sure you’re not—” he begins with concern, and then he feels against his jeans-clad thigh the unmistakable press of an erection.
Loki, suddenly and unexpectedly in his face, grins.
All Steve can think to say--while trying not to stifle a laugh of sheer inexplicable delight--is, "Um, I guess you really are ‘more well’ than usual, huh?"
"Yes," Loki hisses as he sharply nips Steve’s earlobe.
Steve’s groin heats, and his pants are almost instantly uncomfortably tight behind his zipper. Even so… “I don’t think this is smart. You’re still—”
“I am still an invalid, yes, and I still will be for some time. I accept that. But,” and he leans closer, words whispered hotly into Steve’s ear, “even now, I am stronger than you think. Please.”
One move more, and his mouth is on Steve’s, searching, finding, sharing. Loki’s sheer desire explodes from him, battering through enervation and weakness and tribulation, alive and fierce and trembling.
Steve wraps strong, supportive arms around him, and kisses back, matching him breath for breath as he holds him close.
“Please,” Loki asks again, after they reluctantly break away, and that half-voice has gone softer, weaker. Steve almost flinches to hear it, realizing that Loki has already given so much in one kiss. He’s breathing heavily and trembling a bit, but he’s still rock-hard as he rubs slowly against Steve. His free hand fumbles downward, to the waistband of Steve’s jeans; he struggles with the fastening, fails to release it, makes a sound of frustration before he moves to the pull of the zipper. But he finds that that, too, is beyond him.
“Loki, no.” Steve catches that trembling hand and tries to move it to his lips, to kiss an apology.
Loki, typically, resists. “Do not stop me. I will have…” His lips have gone pale, and that flush that briefly colored his face is gone now.
“Yes. You ‘will have’,” Steve reassures. The pressure in his groin is almost unbearable, as is seeing Loki’s neediness. “But it’s going to have to be on my terms for once, okay?”
For a moment, the expression on Loki’s face is the one he thinks he’s managed to hide from everyone else—and maybe he has, except for Steve; grief, distress, nothing short of anguish at all he’s lost—but just as quickly the mask smoothes back into place, and Loki looks to him with haughty disdain. “I suppose I must oblige you, since it seems to mean so much to you.” And then his hands are snaking down Steve’s body, and Steve’s waistband is not so snug that Loki can’t sneak one thin hand inside, to wrap his fingers around Steve’s erection, a knowing thumb caressing the head just-so.
Steve groans, and once again he’s catching Loki’s wrist and pulling his hand away. “Don’t get things started too soon, okay? Just take it easy.”
“Don’t expect me,” Loki retorts, “to lie on my back like a Midgard maiden about to have her blossom plucked by some ruddy-cheeked stable boy.” And as proof, Loki—moving more quickly than Steve would have thought possible—pulls himself fully atop him and begins to…
Well, “rub” is the wrong word—it always is—as Loki presses his entire body along the length of Steve’s, and strokes. It’s sinuous, catlike, and very, very effective, even though Steve can feel his diminishment, the lack of strength; the limitlessness around Loki is gone. Even so, before long, what Loki is doing has Steve twitching—all of him.
And just as quickly as he moved before, Loki suddenly stills and goes limp, and Steve is afraid he’s passed out again from too much exertion, too soon. But then he feels a low chuckle resonating in Loki’s chest. “I fear I have overestimated my stamina,” and then, in a smoky whisper that coils itself deep in Steve’s belly, “Pluck away, my dear Captain.”
Steve wastes no time. He slides his hands inside Loki’s robe and carefully slips it off his shoulders, then works his arms out of the sleeves. It’s a moment’s more work to free any folds of fabric trapped between them, and then the robe’s on the floor, and there’s a naked, aroused God in Steve’s arms.
That never gets old.
Except he can’t continue enjoying the sensation right this second. He locks his arms around Loki, shifting and lifting until they’ve exchanged places, Loki now on his back again, nestled and comfortable amidst the plush furs. “You are such a tease,” Loki whispers, craning to punctuate each phrase with a nip at the sensitive flesh of Steve’s jawline, “stripping me bare so you can have your way with me, while still you hide yourself.”
“Be right back then,” and he kisses Loki’s cheek before bounding from the recliner.
Steve makes quick work of his own clothes, pulling his shirt off over his head instead of dealing with too many buttons, toeing off his shoes even as he simultaneously slides down jeans and briefs both. For all the frenzy of his undressing though, once he’s stripped he pauses instead of rejoining Loki in that cozy nest.
It’s going to be different, he knows, because Loki has always dominated, whether it’s an entire day spent together behind closed doors, or just a hasty, post-battle fuck to wind down so they can sleep. And Steve would be a liar if he said he didn’t love it that way, letting himself surrender to someone so skilled at completely pleasuring others—in pursuit, it must be admitted, of satisfactorily pleasuring himself. Steve wonders if he should say something about it, sort of an apology in advance, a promise to do the best he can, maybe pair his words with a little salute or something…
And then he turns back and realizes it doesn’t matter, at all. The green eyes watching him so avidly are luminous and huge, made more so by the extreme hollowness to his cheeks. Loki's face has always been keen and sharp, but the bones beneath are blades now. Steve knows he’ll fill out again—he has to—but in the meantime it’s been very hard to get used to the sharpness of his collarbones, the exaggerated length of his neck, fingers that seem little more than long white twigs. Steve is among the few who’s seen the hollow dip below Loki’s breastbone, every rib on display, the exaggerated jut of hipbones below a concave belly. His legs aren’t even strong enough to fully support him yet.
And Steve should grieve for what Loki’s lost, and in his head he knows that despite the physical recovery to come, Loki’s psyche will always be damaged by this… but right now Loki’s alive, and wanting him, and Steve’s wanting him back, and really, it can’t get any better than that.
“Well?” Loki arranges himself on the furs, splayed like a centerfold, and there’s a deliberate coquettish tilt to his head when he speaks. Steve can’t help but laugh as he obeys and climbs back into the recliner.
He catches Loki close, appreciating the feel, the smell, even—especially—the taste of him, after running his tongue along the throbbing pulse point in Loki’s throat in one long wet swipe. Loki’s head falls back, eyes closing, and he makes a sound deep in his throat that makes Steve’s erection throb in response. “What do you want, Loki?” he murmurs.
“Everything,” the God in his arms manages; then softer, “Everything.”
And Steve swears he will give it.
His fingers undo the braid worked so carefully that morning by Thor, because that tight plait is just going to get in his way. Once it’s undone, and all that black hair is spread across the pillow as dramatically as Loki is across his furs, Steve slides his fingers through it and cradles Loki’s head in his palm, and lifts him for another kiss.
Loki returns it as eagerly as he can, far from a passive recipient, all tongue and heat and heavy breathing. Steve’s reasoning was correct: as long as someone else is doing the heavy lifting, Loki is still quite capable. He nuzzles, he suckles, he bites; his hands slide down Steve’s flanks, and those black nails are sharp enough to scrape and scratch in just the right way, in every receptive, tender, sensitive place he has.
What Loki’s not going to be capable of is a healing spell at the end of everything, which means Steve’s going to have to explain the blazing love marks on his skin tomorrow. He hopes he doesn’t blush too much in front of the rest of the team at the breakfast table.
More foreplay isn’t necessary—between the two of them, Steve admits, it never really is—and from the way Loki is squirming against him, Steve understands it’s time to get down to business, as it were. The recliner might be wide, but it’s short, so Steve curls in on himself as he slips down Loki’s body.
He first spreads kisses across Loki’s chest, pausing to press an ear to his heart, reassuring himself with how steadily it beats now, instead of the rare random stutters it managed in those horrible first days after Loki was so grievously injured; then down his torso, sucking a little bit of skin into his mouth and working his teeth to leave marks of his own; to his belly, where Loki of all things giggles when Steve lasciviously plunges his tongue into the depths of his navel.
Loki reaches down, now running his hands through Steve’s hair and completely disarranging it until it must be sticking out at all angles. There’s urgency to his gestures, the way he’s working his fingernails against Steve’s scalp, and then Steve realizes Loki is actually pushing him downward, asking with gestures what he won’t say with his mouth.
This is going to be something different—Loki’s never allowed Steve to please him this way, although Loki himself is an expert at giving head. He’s had Steve literally begging for mercy—and of course, that’s only made Loki suck harder and take him deeper, laughing around that straining cock, until he finally allows Steve relief. And Steve himself has never given fellatio; but he’s also heard that in bed, people tend to do what they like to have done to themselves. He’s afraid if he attacks Loki with that same enthusiasm, they seriously will be hauling their broken God back to SHIELD Medical for treatment of a stroke or a heart attack, and there will be even more red-faced explaining to do. So…
Carefully he moves lower, lower, kissing and caressing all the while, until his chin is resting in the short black curls at Loki’s groin, and his check is against Loki’s erection. Steve captures it there with his free hand and brazenly nuzzles it, up and down, until he can practically feel its pulsing against his face and Loki is actually hissing with need.
Steve’s not quite sure how to go from here, but the message from Loki is clear, so Steve turns his head just a little to press his lips in a soft kiss at the base of Loki’s cock. He works his way upward like that, careful to cover every straining inch. Loki’s gone still now, focused, his hands now clenching in the furs.
Steve takes a moment to slide his lips over the tip of Loki’s erection, sucking him in just a little and examining the head with small probes of his tongue. Loki’s stomach muscles tense and his hips reflexively buck upward. Steve knows he could probably finish the job quickly, but no, he wants to give Loki more—what he deserves. Plus Steve finds he likes the taste and feel of Loki in his mouth, and selfishly he wants to prolong it.
With the tip of his tongue, he traces each vein in Loki’s cock, up and down, learning him intimately. Tactics change, and he broadens his tongue to lap the length of it with long wet strokes. When Loki begins to whine in the back of his throat, Steve slicks his hands with more saliva so that they will slide with the proper amount of friction, and works him deftly for several strokes, fingers and mouth both.
And then, without warning, he takes Loki fully in his mouth and starts to suck as he bobs his head up and down. Everything feels more natural than he thought it would be; plus, he’s surprised at how much he is enjoying it, and prays that Loki will allow this pleasure later when he’s back to full strength.
Suddenly as Steve’s head bobs rhythmically everything angles just right and Loki slides into the back of this throat; he almost chokes and quickly pulls away. But each time it happens after, it becomes easier, until he’s enjoying the fullness of Loki’s cock filling all of his mouth.
Loki suddenly raises his hands from where they’ve been clenching in the furs, but he doesn’t reach to hold Steve in place; when the tables are turned, Steve is usually holding Loki in place--by his ears, yet--in case he gets distracted mid-blow job and starts doing something else. Instead, Loki’s begun to rub himself, chest, belly, everywhere he can reach, pressing hard with the flat of his hand, kneading with his palms. Steve has to pause a second and gather himself—careful not to bite—when Loki, in complete abandonment, lightly pinches his own nipples until they are dark and hard.
He knows how much stimulation Loki prefers, and how impossible it is to take pleasure that way right now since Loki is literally so physically fragile. But Steve can do a little more… He takes the hand that is not wrapped around the base of Loki’s cock, and slides it between Loki’s thighs where he finds the soft, weighty sack. He cups it in his palm, using all his fingers to explore it, stroking, fondling, even squeezing it in tiny, careful pulses—not enough pressure that would cause pain, but certain enough that Loki will definitely notice that added sensation.
And Loki’s started to make an effort to thrust upward, but those once-crushed, still healing hips do not allow him to lift himself properly, nor maintain any rhythm. Steve reaches around one narrow hip and slides his arm under Loki’s ass, broad hand grabbing one buttock, to support him, help him out. He matches and maintains the rhythm of Loki’s nascent thrusts, allowing Loki to fuck his mouth, slide in and out between his lips.
Loki starts to speak to himself—soft, incoherent, foreign words—and Steve thinks he is trying to chant a spell as sometimes he does to enhance the experience in those last moments before completion. Loki has nothing available to him right now as every drop of sorcery within him continues to repair his body; still, habits die hard. Steve hopes the right moves will take the place of erotic magic. Just below the head, as his tongue swipes over the tip and tastes the first pearl of pre-ejaculate, Steve tenderly, oh-so-carefully scrapes his teeth against the hard and ready, hyper-sensitive flesh.
Sudden complete tension in Loki’s body, and silently he climaxes; no cry of triumph or desire or even release, just a pulse, a quiver, and he is spilling deep within Steve’s mouth. Just as suddenly he finishes, gasping, and sags back limp in the recliner, breathing hard.
Steve girds himself to swallow—it would be unforgivably rude to spit, he know, because of how many times Loki has willingly taken him in after draining him—but it’s not easy. He looks up when Loki urgently calls his name. Their eyes meet, and Loki says hoarsely, “Kiss me. Now.”
Steve’s not sure he wants to—he’s still doing his best to work the come down his throat—but he obeys Loki’s summons as usual. Loki’s lips instantly part as Steve bends over him, and his tongue flicks out to sweep away the lingering come at the corner of Steve’s mouth. Then he throws his arms around Steve’s neck and pulls him in with strength that belies his enervation. That clever tongue delves into Steve’s mouth, sweeping over and licking every inner surface. He’s sucking at the same time, and stubbornly draws forth his own leftover fluids to swallow them himself.
“Our tastes mingle well.” His voice is smoky, eyes heavy lidded—satisfied or sleepy, Steve can’t tell, and he figures some of both. “We must try this again.”
“Maybe,” Steve says gently as he begins to shift the first of the furs back into place, “after you’ve rested a bit.”
Loki, though, stubbornly pushes it away. “What about you?” Those drowsy eyes open fully; his gaze slides appreciatively down Steve’s body and lingers with hungry intent at Steve’s groin.
“I can, um, take care of myself.” He’s already planning a warm, long, private shower, once Loki’s fallen asleep.
“Nonsense.” Loki is forcing strength into his words, determined. “I will have you pleased with me.” He shifts, draws up his knees, lets his legs fall apart in readiness. “Within me.” Loki’s smile is both hard and enticing; he lifts one hand to beckon, fingers curling inward. And he manages to get one leg around Steve’s waist, even as it trembles with his efforts to keep it in place. “Fuck me.”
This they have done many times; when Loki is in the mood, he is very fond of being penetrated, of making Steve pierce into him for as long as Steve can stand it. Fortunately, super serum has more benefits than just muscle mass, strength and durability; Steve can thank it for his staying power as well.
But Steve must be firm and override Loki’s adventurous desires. “I can’t.” He shakes his head. “I’ll break you. For real.” Loki’s mouth turns down, and there is that look in his eyes again, recognition that something has faded away to a mere shadow of what it once was. It makes Steve change his mind, wonder how this can somehow be accomplished. Finally he smiles; Loki catches the change in expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts free from the grim line it had been drawn into.
“If you’re up to it, there’s other ways we can do this.”
Loki’s tongue flicks hungrily over his lips—and Steve can practically feel how it pierced into his mouth and helped to suck him dry--and his eyes brighten with interest. “Do tell.”
“Showing’s better.” And he catches Loki fully in his arms, a snug, supporting embrace, and pulls him into his lap. Loki seems a bit disoriented by this sudden change in position, from the horizontal to vertical, sagging and swaying for several seconds until he finds control again. But Steve can’t miss how Loki is clinging to him, supporting himself. He wonders if this is wise, but nothing, they have all found out, matches the strength of Loki’s will. He would not be alive, in Steve’s arms, if otherwise.
“Ah,” he breathes against Steve’s neck, “This is… quite comfortable. And quite convenient, as well, if you mean me to….”
The smile of the devil is on his face, his eyes glinting almost chartreuse beneath his dark lashes. He reaches down between them until he captures Steve’s cock, and starts working it. And Steve lets his head fall back, enjoying these caresses, something else he’s been deprived for far too long. Loki has amazing, talented, long-fingered hands that remember exactly where and how to touch him.
With difficulty, Steve pushes those knowing hands away. Loki looks surprised. “Is this not what you decided?”
“Not hardly,” he manages, holding himself back. “Something a lot better.” He stretches out a long arm out to the small table beside the recliner, where he grabs the bottle of lotion, the same scent as that of the candles that perfume the room with their healing aura. He shifts Loki just-so, lets one leg encircle his waist as Loki desires, but he straightens the other across his own thigh, until they are almost groin-to-groin with each other, Loki still gone soft while Steve is rampant and rock-hard.
The crease of Loki’s thigh is vulnerable, the skin new and soft with a tracery of blue veins beneath. Steve strokes his fingers over him and Loki shivers. It’s a spot he once found by accident that is highly sensitive, receptive when he explores all of Loki’s body.
A dollop of lotion on his hand; he quickly warms it by briskly rubbing his palms together, then applies it to that sensitive skin. Loki doesn’t really get what’s happening until Steve slicks himself, then positions his readied cock against that warm, readied crease. One hand behind Loki’s knee, he draws up the leg until his cock is trapped in the crevice he’s created, and then Steve cants his hips and begins to thrust.
It feels good—better than Steve imagined it would—tight enough, deep enough. It seems to be enough for Loki as well, who rests solidly against him, hands traveling over Steve’s back—more marking with nails, from shoulder blades to buttocks. His throat vibrates with a low, sweet, steady hum.
Steve closes his eyes and pushes a little hard and faster, caught up in sensation that threatens to burst. He holds himself back until it’s almost unbearable—to hold on to this moment, skating on the edge, Loki in his arms, buried in Loki—but finally with a groan pushes hard one final time, and spills into that tight crease.
He gasps heavily against Loki’s neck, feeling how Loki’s whole body rises and falls with Steve’s hard, erratic breathing. It takes him almost a full minute to recover, and he finally opens his eyes.
Loki looks done in himself, eyes shadowed, body gone nearly as boneless as Steve feels. Steve carefully releases his hold on Loki’s leg, stretching it straight to let his shrinking erection fall free. Most of his come has spurted onto the fur, but he’s at a loss over what to use to clean Loki of the rest of it. Then a wicked thought occurs to him; he swipes his fingers through his cooling spunk, which makes Loki jump, opening his eyes and starting to pay attention.
He offers those stained fingers to Loki, who wordlessly sucks them into his mouth, one by one, cleaning them. Steve’s shaking a little, to be honest, at the sheer sensuality of it. Loki’s mouth moves—“Kiss me”, the command unvoiced; and now Steve experiences his taste in Loki’s mouth, and the God was right—their mingled taste is so right.
He shifts Loki fully into his lap again, and they wind their limbs around each other. Steve’s eyes widen; it’s surely impossible what he is feeling—a hard press against his body, again. Loki’s eyes flutter open and he looks down between their bodies, his mouth forming into a surprised “o” and one eyebrow climbing. He’s barely able to manage words through his dismay. “I didn’t think that could possibly happen. I certainly didn’t wish it. I’m not sure,”--and does Steve hear a challenge in that tone?-- “if I can possibly bear more pleasure at your hands.”
“You can take it,” and then Steve promises, “I’ll be gentle”, and there’s nothing mocking about his words at all. Loki sighs, his body surrendering into Steve’s, completely relaxed and uncharacteristically trusting. Steve coats his hands with lotion yet again, wraps his fingers around Loki’s cock. He works him with slow, gentle strokes, nothing more, and he’s not sure if Loki will climax, or if the erection will simply shrivel despite the subtle stimulation.
But Loki’s begun to hum again, a bare trace that is more vibration than sound, and there’s a slight arch to his back as he’s being manually pleasured that allows him to rock back and forth. Steve matches his motions to Loki’s, subtle as they are, and in only a minute Loki’s breath hitches and he is spurting over Steve’s hand.
Once Loki has finished—and Steve has wiped off the come on his hand onto the fur, since it’s already going to need dry-cleaning-- Steve wraps his arms around Loki again and holds him close. Loki is utterly enervated, drained, his entire body as limp as his spent cock. Still, despite his drowsy, half-lidded eyes, there is satisfaction on his face and, once again an aura of contentment around him. The hum slowly tapers away, until he is a quiet, still, warm bundle in Steve’s arms, and Steve would think him asleep save for the minuscule circles Loki still traces on Steve’s back with one fingertip. Then that hand splays, pats once, twice at the center of Steve’s back. It’s never been a signal between them, yet Steve gets the message: Done.
Moving carefully, almost reverently, he repositions Loki in the recliner, partially on one side, his head on the pillow and long black hair carefully brushed to the side; limbs tucked and arranged so that he will be comfortable.
If this were a fairy tale, Steve thinks, Loki would be healed, and rise now and leave his sickroom for good. But this is reality—or at least what passes for it in Stark Tower-- but still, even if it’s just for the afterglow moment, there’s a soft flush to his body that makes him look, for the first time, like regaining his health might be possible.
Loki, though, is a sticky mess—as is Steve—and before he’ll be covered again with those warm furs and left to sleep, it’s Steve’s obligation to clean him up. “Be right back,” he whispers into Loki’s ear after a quick kiss to his temple. “Going to get a washcloth—“
“No.” Loki gropes for his hand, threads his fingers into Steve’s, and holds him there with a strength that has nothing to do with physicality. “It can wait. I don’t mind.” Then, softly, fading, “Lay with me a bit longer.”
Steve realizes that waking up sticky really doesn’t matter. He stretches out again, cradling Loki close and warm against his body. They’ll both be asleep in moments, Steve knows.
And Loki nuzzles him one last time, and whispers a confession against his skin: “This is why I fought so hard to live.”