ikols | open post | psls

[ It all comes crashing down to this moment, he thinks, this one right here, with Chris making him cry out for real as the bite sends a jolt of pain-pleasure ripping down Loki's spine to have his cock spilling precome with a twitch. He wraps his arms around broad shoulders and keeps Chris locked in the embrace of his legs, smooth calves sliding up and down and thighs bearing down on Chris's hips.

Just you, Chris says, uncaring that Loki is a god and moreover craving him despite that, seeing him for his actions instead of a chequered past. He calls Loki Sweetheart and the attraction feels so unsullied, so genuine, that Loki feels a little crazy with how much he wants him back. ]

Give me, ah! Gods, give me your hand, before I forget this. [ He brings Chris's hand into his own and murmurs a spell in Asgardian. ] ᛖᛃᚺᚦᚦ.

[ Sticky slick appears, much like lube but thicker, all over Chris's fingers. Loki arches up with a shudder, rubbing his cock firmly alongside Chris's so he can feel how hard and wet he is, something Loki can't fake. To put it another way, ]

Baby needs his Daddy.

[ Chris has trained himself out of being possessive through sheer necessity, but there's still that little coal of avarice that burns in his chest, that looks at something he likes and thinks mine, you're mine and nobody else's.

If Loki really is a god, he knows the idea of laying claim to him is laughable. Chris was raised by a theology professor, was taught about all sorts of different religions from the first day he could comprehend language, and understands the basic rules of them all: you belong to your god, your god does not belong to you.

Well. He'll see about that.

He laves apologetic kisses into the fading bite mark as Loki takes his hand in his, distracted by examining the indentations in that cool, pale skin, torn between satisfaction and consternation. He's a good man. He prides himself on being a Good Man, he shouldn't like to see that he's caused damage or pain, but he can't help but be pleased to see he's left a mark on the body in his bed.

The slick in his hand is definitely enough to draw his attention away, though. ]

You think I don't have lube? [ He doesn't, but that's neither here nor there.

Rubbing his fingers together consideringly, feeling the slip and slide of whatever it was Loki just coated his hand with, he makes himself slow the steady hunch of his hips, grinding their rocking back down to a halt despite the aching need apparent in every line of Loki's body. ]

I don't know, baby, you were very naughty today. Do you think you deserve to get what you want after all that?

[ He highly doubts Chris has lube in his fancy, straight-laced captain's quarters, so says the critical look Loki shoots him with a smile, saved from answering as all that wonderful pressure suddenly stops. More accurately, he can't rock up against Chris anymore and his dick feels like it's on fire, hard enough to bow up against his lover's belly where every brush over the tip feels like sweet torture. ]

Naughty? I was ... I was so good!

[ Indignantly, he gives a token tug down on Chris, a pout rising up to offer plying kisses. The bounty of his argument. ]

I went to work, I learned — I educated myself!

[ Resisting being tugged down — no matter how tempting it is to let himself sway forward, to take those bitten-red lips in another kiss, to grind down against that pretty pink cock straining up against him — Chris makes himself arch an eyebrow instead, settling his weight more firmly on one arm so he can trail the very tips of his fingers lightly down the edge of Loki's body, careful not to waste too much slick but wanting to leave behind a distracting trail to pull his focus away from his cock.

Letting this be over too soon is not in the cards for tonight. ]

And what did you learn?

[ Infuriating. How — Loki looks less like a god than ever, flustered and racking his sex-slowed brains for a reply that will get him what he wants. How horrendously attractive of Christopher. Both arms flop above Loki's head, petulantly stretching out beneath him to get some meagre revenge; if he refuses to touch then it can be a punishment not to. ]

That no one on this entire vessel can give you what I can.

[ Loki looks distressingly good like this, flushed and sprawling across Chris's sheets.

If he were a weaker man, he might give in to temptation, but he forces himself to be strong. He's lasted weeks without having this, he can last another minute or so, especially since he's pretty sure that, despite all his pouting and posturing, Loki is enjoying almost as much as he is. ]

True, but that's not what I want to hear.

[ He does at least duck his head down to press a kiss to Loki's chest, just left of his nipple. A little treat. ]

I have no reason to speak honestly.

[ He shrugs in place, insolent and bored to the best degree he can affect. Loki brushes a leg up Chris's side, heel on the back of his thigh gliding down to hook lazily around a knee. ]

No incentive, thus far.

No reason?

[ Time for Chris to affect a pout of his own. He has a suspicion it's not nearly as effective as Loki's, but he's an old man, not an indolent youth flushed prettily with desire. ]

I made you dinner.

[ Technically he made himself dinner and then fed Loki after, but that's not the point. He's planning on making breakfast if he wakes up early enough, that has to count for something, right?

He's about to open his mouth to continue when his communicator chirps from the other room.

Almost instantly, the teasing playfulness slips from his face as he shifts his attention away from the young man in his bed instead towards the door of his bedroom, poised to leap into action if necessary, but he doesn't get up off the bed. Sure enough, after a few more chirps, it falls silent and doesn't start up again, so whatever the message was, it wasn't vital enough to override Chris's DND requests.

Shaking his head a little as if to clear it of cobwebs, he turns back to Loki and smiles. ] Sorry about that. Where were we?

[ The lazy flirtatious air is pebbled apart by the communicator, the way it snags Chris's attention a thorn in Loki's side. He reaches up to cup his cheek and ensure he doesn't look away again, green eyes brighter beneath low lashes. ]

You were going to have the best sex of your life.

I've lived a long life, sweetheart...

[ It's hard to remember Loki is apparently thousands of years old and that, by comparison, Chris is just a baby. He's starting to feel his age, much to his chagrin, starting to feel the aches and pains that come with settling into middle-age, with choosing a career that puts him in the path of physical danger with alarming regularity.

Turning his head a little, he kisses the heel of Loki's palm, his eyes closing in a too-long blink as he breathes in the smell of his skin as if to ground himself. ]

Yes, I'm sure they were all amazing. Do you know what I love doing in bed with the man I adore? Discussing his previous saddles.

[ The snerk expression Loki wears eases off as he raises a hand straight up, green magic coalescing in his palm. ]

This setting isn't really conducive to helping you relax, so allow me ...

[ A shimmering green wave fans out as he gestures with his arm, the arc of it continuing all around the room turning Chris's quarters into somewhere far, far grander. The wing of Asgard where Loki stays when at home in the Golden Realm is just that, golden, with veins of rich ore sparkling through the lofty pillars and sweeping tapestries of rich emerald draped haphazardly around the walls, each depicting one of his animals, a fox or horse or snake. The walls are piled with this and that, swords and artefacts (none of his best or worst), and the balcony is as wide as the two huge doors flanking it, letting in summer sunshine and a view of periwinkle. A rainbow arcs up on the ceiling, reflected from the Bifrost below. Silky golden sheets and deep fur throws are their bed, luxurious in the very real feel and scent: pine and apples, honeyed fruitcakes too. The bed itself sits in the middle of a cavernously round room, somewhere at the top of a tower.

Loki flops his arm back to the bed. ]

Welcome to Asgard ... or the very closest approximation of it.

[ It's an illusion, nothing more, but Loki's illusions are unparalleled tricks on the senses and he preens with pride. ]

[ That hadn't quite been what he meant, but before he can regroup to explain himself, Loki is throwing a hand up and throwing that green magic of his out from his palm, a spreading wave covering all of Chris's bedroom, coating it, changing it.

He'd be more alarmed if he hadn't seen Loki's magic before; his only real question is if they've been actually transported off his ship or if this is a situation like Loki's clothes had been before, real to the touch but easily changed or removed with just a thought from the young god.

As someone who appreciates artistry in all its forms, Chris allows himself to pull back and look around, assuming that Loki wouldn't have gone to all the trouble to create this setting for them if Chris wasn't allowed to admire it.

It's honestly a little overwhelming, the sumptuous grandeur of it all, from the silken sheets and the heavy tapestries, the glimmering prismatic light splashed across the ceiling and the glittering winks of gold in the stone that surrounds them. Even the smells seem real.

Prince of Asgard. Well. That does make this make a little more sense; if Chris had to picture what the rooms of a prince would look like, he might imagine something pretty similar to this. His imagination would be nothing but a pale imitation of the reality, though, especially this reality.

Smiling, a pleased and somewhat awed wonder coloring his expression, Chris turns back to Loki, but when he speaks, he says nothing about the room around them. ]

You adore me?

[ With a growl he throws a thigh over Chris to push him back into the furred unicorn-rug and guides that comically slick hand around to his neglected ass, arching his spine. ]

Shut up and kiss me, Chris.

[ Not that Loki waits for permission, rocking down to get their cocks realigned in a heady drag of hot precome, trying to re-inspire the same urgency that lived before the damnable comm went of. ]

[ Laughing as he gets flipped, Chris obligingly trails his fingers down to where Loki so desperately wants them, stroking and petting for a moment before giving in and dipping the tip of one finger past that tight clench of muscle. ]

You really are a prince, aren't you?

[ No one else can be that demanding, he's sure of it. Luckily, Chris finds it incredibly charming, as evidenced by the look on his face as he watches Loki shift above him, the light of the Bifrost reflecting in shards across his face making his eyes look painfully blue and painfully fond.

Tangling his free hand in that silky black hair, he pulls Loki down to acquiesce to his demands of a kiss. ]

I told you! Mmph.

[ His laughter turns into mock-grumbles against Chris's lips for moments before Loki melts into him, sucking in a sharp breath when breached. He rolls his hips to afford the best angle and shuffles his knees in the plush bedding for a better brace, kisses losing their focus as his lashes flutter with the sway of his concentration. Chris looks very fine beneath him, blue skies in his gaze and warm skin that could bear the sun of Asgard. He's a warrior, in simpler terms, and Loki wants to make his prized, perfect partner sing. ]

That's right, ah. Right there, oh ...

[ Gods help him when he has all of the man buried in his backside. ]

My prince.

[ That's not really how that works, but he doesn't think either of them particularly care at the moment, too busy with other, much more important, matters.

Matters like how Loki's kisses grow sloppier the more distracted he gets, the warm give of his body that Chris swears is getting warmer the more he touches him, the sweet little sounds that spill from his lips as he moves above him to chase his own pleasure even as Chris scrambles to give it, the wide black pupils of those pretty green eyes Chris loves looking at nearly wide enough to reflect back the mirror image of Chris himself.

He moves as quickly as he thinks he can while still trying to hold himself back, trusting in Loki's ability to tell him when it's too much or not enough but not necessarily trusting his own restraint. ]

Yours ...

[ Blissed out on his attentive lover, Loki feels the spiralling ache of finger after finger being added and takes them all with gasps and whines, biting at Chris's lip to distract himself when the strain feels almost too much. Then there's a final give, a need to have Chris that outweighs any lingering discomfort, and he knows he's ready.

He also remembers what Chris said he wanted, so he taps his wrist to get his attention. ]

Let ... Let me get on my knees for you. [ Language feels like mead in his mouth, sticky and slurred from numbing kisses. ] I want that too.

[ Like it takes a few moments for the words to filter through the fog that's clouded Chris's mind, he's slow to respond to Loki's mumbled words, and when he does it's with little more than a long groan.

He doesn't want to let Loki out of his embrace, especially not after all this time, but eventually he convinces his fingers to cooperate and the hand he has clamped down tight on his hip lets go, fingers loosening their almost vice-like grip before smoothing a petting stroke down the line of his smooth, pale thigh. ]

Yeah. [ Very eloquent. ] C'mon.

[ It'll feel so good once they move, he tells himself, once they can bear to. On aching knees Loki crawls to one side away from those large hands and in one long, slow slide he drops his weight to the blankets, the curve of his back offering up his slick, empty ass like a supplicant trying to summon a god. The comparison has him smirking into his pillowed arms. ]

Take what's yours, love.

[ The Asgardian breeze is warm then cool, caressing overheated skin then licking it better with a fresh waft as thin curtains billow into the bedchamber. Idunn's apple garden sends the scent of those sweet fruits in with it and Loki sways his raised hips like the only ruined, filthy creature in the realm, glorying in it. He's fairly confident that even a communicator blowing up wouldn't pry Chris away from him now. ]

[ Sometimes, Chris idly wonders if he's stepped into a dream.

Or maybe, more likely, the Enterprise has sailed into some alien culture's net, fallen unwitting prey to a society that can cast such strong illusions that one's deepest, darkest secret desires are made flesh right before them, casting such a tempting spell that even the strongest of wills can't resist. How else could he explain the sight of someone as beautiful as this lithe young man spreading himself out like a feast just for Chris to enjoy, his hips swaying playfully and toes curling against satin sheets, all but begging him to touch?

He really should be more careful. He knows what societies like the Talosians can do, what they're capable of. He remembers Vina.

But, just like with Vina all those years ago, he's weak in the face of such temptation, and he finds his hands lifting out to touch without regard for what his brain has to say on the matter.

Chris spends most of his life out in the darkness of space, beneath artificial lights. And yet, compared to the milky expanse of Loki's skin, Chris's hands look nearly tanned, sun-dark and hard like he's used to rough work and doesn't mostly just sit at a desk reading and writing reports. Sliding his hands up those hairless thighs, he lets himself look his fill, admiring the sight presented just for him. Digging his thumbs into the crease of Loki's ass, he spreads his cheeks and then just sits there, admiring that sight as well, the evidence of his hard work shining on Loki's relaxed hole.

When presented with such a feast, it would be rude not to partake fully, wouldn't it?

Yes. It would.

Curling his spine, Chris ducks down and drags the flat of his tongue across Loki's perineum and then up across his hole, savoring the salt-sweat taste of his skin. ]

[ If he could memorise the moment where Chris gets behind him and there's the lovely view of him kneading at Loki's ass over the godling's shoulder, he would. That same moment would then be overturned by the sensation of a tongue rolling across the softest, hottest, most vulnerable part of Loki's body, something that hasn't happened in a while even by his own standards of time and age.

A strangled squeak catches in his throat as tension laces up his thighs and he tightens up instinctively, breathing out a shaky moan built from the unexpected onslaught of pleasure. He reaches back to feel for Chris's hair and gets a loose fist secured there, needing to touch some part of him while open-mouthed on the pillows. ]

Chris, fuck ... !

[ Based on his reaction, Chris might assume that Loki's never had someone do this to him before.

Or, at least, not in a while.

A long while.

Which, naturally, means that Chris has to do it again, laving his tongue over the suddenly-tensed ring of muscle he'd spent so long relaxing, muffling a dark chuckle into the rosy skin beneath his lips as Loki gropes behind himself and tangles his fingers in Chris's hair. He'd pull away to murmur some reassurances, maybe to dole out a gentle tease, but that would require actually pulling away, and he doesn't want to do that. So instead he just redoubles his efforts, alternating firm licks with gentle little tickles, the magical slick Loki conjured for him mixing with his saliva until everything is wet and messy and filthy good. ]

[ Sigurd would never behave this way, too much of a man with his puffed-up pride and Aesir-soured sentiments to do as Loki does and debase himself to being so subservient. These are roles Loki owns, proudly for that matter, but the scathing attitudes of the Aesir are very keen even after thousands of years when it comes to sex, and every aspect of Loki has unsettled them for years. Fandral, God of Fertility that he is, isn't given to eating anyone out but a woman, and is clear with his preferences without being derisive, but both of these men are slim pickings and Loki isn't fond of fraternising with mortals who are easily swayed to expect things of him. So, it has been a couple of lifetimes since Loki was treated this well, as if precious and deserving of all pleasure, and he gags on groans as he shifts back in rolling motions to meet Chris's mouth in his desperation to experience something practically new.

He fills the bedchamber with noise, releasing Chris's hair in order to grip the bedsheets beside his head. Panting hard, a shudder goes through him and he pleads into cotton, unashamed in the face of his own hunger. ]

Please, I'm close.

[ Already, yes. Once he feels Chris really going places with that tongue, he fears it'll be over for orgasm number one.

[ It doesn't take long until Loki is arching up into him, his back a beautiful tense bow as his hips chase Chris's mouth, his face pressed into the bed presumably to hide his face from the outside world. That someone as inherently, joyously shameless as Loki feels the need to hide his face from this is truly a heady realization, making Chris's cock jump eagerly between his thighs, something he does his best to ignore for now.

He's got more important things to focus on right now.

Lost in his pleasure, that first jolt of surprised tension has well and truly melted out of Loki's muscles, and Chris alternates sweeping long gentle strokes of his hands up his thighs and up over his back, petting him and pressing his chest down some more to accentuate the angle of his hips. ]

Good.

[ He bites the swell of muscle beside his cheek for a moment, just long enough for the hand still covered in residual slick to lift so he can slip his fingers back inside Loki's body once more, probing in deep as Chris resumes licking and sucking at the ring of muscle stretched around his knuckles. ]

[ Boastful as he is about his grand age, there's no real way of masking how he reacts anymore so he falls into it whole-heartedly with every twisting, writhing push against Chris's hands that hold him down in order to keep him at the right height elsewhere. Face-down and ass-up, Loki's knees slide through the blankets in order to keep himself in place and he drools into the pillow against his cheek as thick, firm fingers start to work him up too, giving him something to finally bear down on. The chanted mantra of Christopher, my Chris can't be stopped, interspersed with hitched little noises and rolling groans all partially muffled in the bed.

When he can't stop the arching of his hips anymore he cries out and begs, tears spiking his lashes, ]

Touch me, please, please, Chris, touch me —!

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