( we were once cinema gods in the night )

[treachery]

[ Loki runs — through fields and meadow, through sweetgrass and sunlit wheat. He runs, and he does not cast his glance behind him, for he can hear Thor alighting upon his fleeing shadow, the promise of an embrace as inevitable as the rise of the sun, and the fall of the moon.

When the open fields give way to the fringe of surrounding woods, Loki scurries up into the boughs of a tree, dislodging a family of songbirds in the process. He had not known to climb with such limber skill when he first tumbled into Thor's arms, weeks and weeks ago, but the summer sun has scorched his winter-skin to a golden tan, his arms have become lean and graceful, and he moves with the elegant confidence of a creature accustomed to plenty.

Only when he has reached the topmost branches of the towering oak does Loki peer down from its heights. His lungs are full and aching with laughter, but still the music of it flows forth, as sweet and soft as the renewed murmurings of the wood;s birds and of summer-beasts.

He tosses a chain of gem-studded gold into the air — it had been the victor's recompense for a tournament meant to be held a fortnight hence, but Loki had seen it, grown enamored, and had thought to make a game of its theft. ]

How slow you are, Thor-king — !

[ crows the king of winter, perched upon his throne of wooded green. With another flick of his wrist, he sends the chain into the air again, catching it with one outstretched finger and spinning it lazily about. ]

You could have mined an ore of gold and beaten it into another chain in the time it has taken you to catch up to me.

Comments

[treachery]

[ Loki, gratified by the trembling note of Thor's voice, redoubles his efforts, drawing a wet path along the thick vein running up the underside of the shaft, mouthing at the turgid crown with lips soft and gleaming.

Though at first his gaze had fallen in silent focus upon the jut of proffered cock, now it rises again to meet Thor's storm-wrought blue, watching and noting every flicker of pleasure that his own mouth calls into being.

(Perhaps there is a shadow of mischief upon Loki's white face, enough to offer the wet flickering pleasure of his tongue, but not yet the sheathe of his mouth. He is inexperienced and he is eager to please, but his submission does not come without self-awareness.)

So he lowers his mouth to kiss Thor's knuckles with tongue and the suggestion of teeth; so his knees spread to lower himself to the green flank of the earth as he lathes kiss after kiss to the pendulous weight of the sac below. The taste of sky and storm, the heat of Thor's skin upon his tongue: it is enough to send Loki's blood rushing through vein and capillary, his pale cheeks flushing with color.

He leaves another kiss at the base of Thor's glistening cock, waiting for the spur of a new command. ]

[beworthy]

[ Here again, Loki's eyes meeting his is a shock of sweetness, so deep and green they are, as green as the forests through which they chase one another, drunk on love. Green as the fields in which they lie and give one another pleasure. Eyes softer and sweeter than he had ever known the winter's eyes could be, and pale lips brushing gentle across the turgid length of his cock, a red tongue flickering to wet him, to lathe and stroke him until his blood is a sweet fire in his veins.

Thor draws breath deeply, letting it free again in a rush as Loki ducks his head to pay him tender homage, his lips upon the heavy sway of his balls, warmth given and shared between them. He is shuddering as Loki mouths him sweetly, until at last his fingers grasp in his hair, let loose again, cup his cheek to bring his face up to him again, to see the color in his cheeks, the shining of desire in his eyes. ]

Your mouth, now, sweet one. [ The words are of gentle command but it has the longing of a plea, and his fingers tender upon Loki's cheek. ] Take me within, suck me as deeply as you can. I yearn to be sheathed in you.

[treachery]

[ Obeisance in the bow of his shoulders, and in the curl of his fingers; yet still he waits, weighted by his own hesitation, caught in the space between eagerness and wariness. To press kiss after kiss to the length of silky skin is no hardship, not when Thor's eyes urge him forth with the silence of his fettered strength, not when Loki-prince revels in the service that he alone has been chosen to perform.

His own cock is a swollen thrum against the seam of his summer-wrought leathers, yet so focused is he upon the pleasure of his king, it remains but a splash of muted color against a horizon saturated with Thor's blue and red and gold.

So, with purpose in the tilt of his throat, his hair falls to shadow his brow, and he takes the crown of Thor's cock between his lips, lathing it again with his tongue. The hesitation flickers and dies to the coals from whence it had flared; so Loki sucks the breadth and the length within the willing heat of his mouth, his eyes slipping shut.

He moves too quickly; his teeth graze the tender underside, and the head brushes against the back of his throat. His eyes well with involuntary tears, and he wrenches suddenly away, dragging in ragged breath after breath to keep himself from coughing. ]

—you mustn't laugh. [ says the winterborn king, his hand sliding forth to rest upon Thor's. But already he draws forward again, kissing Thor's belly, nuzzling the jut of his cock. Soon his lips part and his head dips forward again, though embarrassment keeps his gaze from rising to gauge Thor's reaction. ]

[beworthy]

[ Loki's eagerness is to be appreciated, even if he is yet too new at this to have developed proper technique. Thor would hardly know what to do either, though he has been given such service often enough that he might be able to find his way well enough. He hisses at the graze of teeth against his most tender skin, lets out breath in quick huff of laughter before his prince of winter can tell him not to, but there is nothing in him but the warm glow of tenderness for him; his fingers stroke his cheeks and Thor smiles, reassuring, a thumb brushing at the brightness of tears gathered in the corner of Loki's eyes. ]

Never mind, beloved. You are so pleasing, so beautiful on your knees for me, so sweet and loving, my very own. I can be patient for you. I have wanted nothing so much as you; I would wait and tremble a hundred years for you, only for your touch, your kiss...

[ So murmuring a soft flow of endearments, he strokes his fingers through Loki's raven hair, shivers as his mouth brushes again the hot skin of his belly, the upthrust swell of his cock, and when Loki's lips come back to his thick cockhead Thor traces the soft stretch of them with his thumb, and urges the press of himself slowly, slowly into that sweet dampness and heat, gently, tenderly. There is no need to rush, nothing to rush for; they are each other's, always. ]