[ Yet this night cannot be a simple reversal of the first act of communion spent in the depths of Thor's heartwood. No merry hearth heats the length of his body, and the winter's sky is as terrible as it is beautiful. Loki trembles, his head bowed forward, his dark hair falling over his white cheeks; he has never known pleasure of this kind, where Thor does not drive it into the loose cradle of his body, but rather lies sweetly pliant under the onslaught of winter. ]
—but a moment. [ says the wind rustling branches bared by the frost, says the fall of dying leaves. He is hilted within; each restless shift of Thor's body beneath sends a sparking brightness through his body. Oh, he'd felt renewed by the first night of union in Thor's arms, and this is another life unto itself. Each breath is another spent clasped tight in the heat of summer's verdant depths, each murmuring gasp is a half-formed attempt at shaping her king's name.
And there is magic in this, too — Loki was once a distaff heavy with raw fibers; the summerlands have spun him into white cloth, vast and beautiful beyond his vanity. And now Thor takes him apart again, and teaches him to want more than communion, to want more than to be changed by those golden hands; now he would be the one to wreak the change he so craves.
A thin sweet note passes from Loki's lips, hanging in the scant space between mouth and mouth, and then he cants his hips forward upon a sigh. ] Then — then let me have all of you. Let the rivers of your mind mix with the ice of mine own, until — [ Oh, another exhalation of breath, as Loki grasps for Thor's hand, and holds it fast. ] — until I am not so alone in this cage of flesh.
no subject
—but a moment. [ says the wind rustling branches bared by the frost, says the fall of dying leaves. He is hilted within; each restless shift of Thor's body beneath sends a sparking brightness through his body. Oh, he'd felt renewed by the first night of union in Thor's arms, and this is another life unto itself. Each breath is another spent clasped tight in the heat of summer's verdant depths, each murmuring gasp is a half-formed attempt at shaping her king's name.
And there is magic in this, too — Loki was once a distaff heavy with raw fibers; the summerlands have spun him into white cloth, vast and beautiful beyond his vanity. And now Thor takes him apart again, and teaches him to want more than communion, to want more than to be changed by those golden hands; now he would be the one to wreak the change he so craves.
A thin sweet note passes from Loki's lips, hanging in the scant space between mouth and mouth, and then he cants his hips forward upon a sigh. ] Then — then let me have all of you. Let the rivers of your mind mix with the ice of mine own, until — [ Oh, another exhalation of breath, as Loki grasps for Thor's hand, and holds it fast. ] — until I am not so alone in this cage of flesh.