bakerstreet | (no subject)

Edited 2013-12-23 01:06 (UTC)

[Ari is hardly the first person to want to shut Loki up for a while. But most of his enemies tend to talk more about sewing his lips shut or cutting out his tongue.

She seems to have decided on kissing him. And, to her credit, it's working. To her credit, it's an idea he'd been batting around for a time in turn, seeing how her mouth handled being turned to something besides clever words and doubletalk.

She just acted first. He can respect that sort of initiative. Enough to let her enjoy pinning him to the wall for a few moments more.

There are things he should be doing, reasons he came to this stifling ball, but...to hell with it. They can wait a few moments more.]

How he'd tempted her into this cesspool of silk and powdered wigs, she'd never know. No, that wasn't true. He'd mentioned gems the size of her fist, and drunken nobles who were shite at cards. He always knew her sweet spot and just how to lure her into situations like this one.

See, a run like this hinged on being mistaken for one of the herd. And his mouth was going to get her challenged to a duel, or worse. So she'd whirled on him and with two sharp shoves, pinned him up against the facade and kissed him. It started as a way to shut him up. And then, like everything with Loki, it got away from her.

His mouth, gods, his mouth was as soft and sweet as she'd imagined it would be. Her hands wove in his hair, nails grazing the nape of his neck, and she pressed against him from knee to shoulder. Like everything she did, Ari threw herself into this kiss like it would be her last, and he didn't seem to be opposed to the idea.

And Loki did tell the truth where it suited him. The gems the size of her fist were hidden away in rooms and hidden vaults, but there were plenty of drunken nobles, and even the ones with their wits about them were shite at cards compared to the two of them. He could have kept all the fun to himself. He'd been tempted to. But honestly, he'd known he would drag less looks with a dancing partner, and he'd known she would appreciate the fun.

And maybe he'd been angling for a duel, or angling to get her involved in a duel just to watch and laugh. Ari had obviously proved herself to have other ideas, but Loki was nothing if not adaptable. He was also never one to turn down pleasure when it thrust itself at him so forcibly.

He hummed against her, biting down on her lower lip and sucking hard on it. But in the end, even Loki had to pull away for breath. This he did, grinning insolently at her in the scant space between them.

"I do believe you've just taken liberties on my poor, battered virtue. I should scream for help."

He fixed his lips to her throat instead.

None of these minor details would have slowed her down, not even the dueling. No one loves a good duel more than Ari. But all of it, the gems, the cards, the potential for violence, all of it has faded from her thoughts. He's stealing her breath away, and she's never been the one to back away from uncharted territory.

Her head tips back and she laughs, low and rich. Her hands refuse to give up their grip in his hair, and when he finds that sweet spot at the side of her throat, she hisses and grips him tighter.

"I can think of better reasons to make you scream, but not here." She curls around him, like a reed curls in a flame, her voice rough against his ear.

"I'm bored of this pathetic little soiree. And if I'm going to relieve you of--oh sweet merciful--your virtue, I'd prefer to do it in private." Her hips align with his and she conveys her meaning eloquently with one slow, precise undulation.

Oh. He shudders lightly when she presses close, when her grip ignites little pinpricks of pain along his scalp. "Is that a promise?" he murmurs back, lips still caressing her throat. In case she needs further persuasion, he grazes that spot lightly with his teeth. He likes it when people are rough with him, in truth. It only makes it easier to feel absolutely everything when they are, and for someone for whom physical touch and sensation are still something of a rarity, he likes to drink it in however he can.

Not many people are capable of taking control away from him. He wonders if she is.

She rolls her hips against his, and in doing so, she'll be able to feel his own excitement. Loki sucks in a breath at the gesture, and then returns it with a slow, easy manner that belies his own desire. Yes, he's suddenly very bored of this party as well, although his voice gives nothing away, retaining that easy, disaffected insolence. "I like this game. Normally I'm the dishonorable villain ravishing the helpless maiden, but you carry the look so very well. Two floors up, third door on the left. There's a room that should serve our purposes wonderfully."

"Oh, I will gladly be your villain, but I highly doubt your ability to play helpless. You'll have to work to convince me."

Her hand works in his hair, knotting her fingers in that thick mane, giving him a shake to let him know she means business. She pulls his head up and to one side, baring his throat so she can lick a hot stripe along his carotid. Her teeth fix in his skin, just at that tender spot beneath his ear, and she growls to taste the salt of his sweat.

And then she's pulling away, dragging him off the wall and tossing him ahead of her. She wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her long coat, dark eyes burning, her breath coming ragged and low. She is so clearly two steps away from having him right here on the cold marble floor, and damn their fine powdered sensibilities.

"Go on. Lead the way. And keep your mouth shut or I might change my mind."

She follows close behind, taking the stairs at a clip, oblivious to any and all that stand in their way. Nothing matters but this. Nothing matters but him.

"Oh, I can't play helpless to save my life. But somehow, I suspect that you'll be able to manage in any case."

Therein has always lied the rub. Loki laughs, and then his breath catches in his throat as she shakes him like a disobedient dog. And, for all his attempts to control himself, he can't help a soft moan from vibrating low in his throat when her teeth find his skin in turn.

He feels a pang of regret, low in the pit of his stomach, when she pushes him away, but he doesn't stumble, stepping neatly forward instead like they hadn't just driven one another to new heights of lust. Just one look in her eyes tells him that, is enough for him to feel her gaze like a brand, and he knows he's tipped his hand that she's affected him similarly in turn.

Well. They can easily fix that. He smiles back at her, a smile so perfectly calculated for innocence that it wraps right back around into carnal. "Your wish is my command."

And then he darts on ahead of her, keeping well ahead as she ascends the stairs. Enough to suggest that if she doesn't work to keep close behind, he might get away.

He never does, though, not until they've rounded up two flights of intricately carved spiral stairs and the sound of the fine string quartet is tinny in the distance down below.

With just a glance back, Loki tugs open the door in question and ducks inside. He will close it on her if she isn't quick enough to follow.

She's hot on his heels, and through the door before he can even finish the thought. She kicks it shut behind her and throws the bolt before peeling off her long coat and letting it fall to the floor, forgotten.

The features of the room register quickly. A sitting room, and beyond, a four-poster bed in heavy oak and wrought iron. She's grinning like the devil herself as she chases him towards the bedroom, choosing to go over the top of the couch instead of around it. She lands, light on her feet, and gives him another sharp shove toward the bed.

"I am not above slicing your clothes off you. And I know that's your favourite coat. Best you see to it before I do." She's already unbuckling the knife belt at her waist, spilling a set of daggers like dice on the floor. She has other purposes for the thin strip of leather, it's clear.

"Go on." She whips the belt through the air, and there's a sharp crack beside her. "Move."

Oh, yes, this is glorious beyond words. There's a fluttering of real and true fear in the pit of Loki's stomach at the way she holds herself like a predator and chases him from the door, from escape. It's a sensation as piercing as any touch, and more in some ways, an almost dizzying high that leaves him feeling lightheaded.

He lets her chase him. He's even genuinely surprised when she moves swiftly enough to plants her hands on his back and shove. The stumble is genuine, even as he turns it into a spin on his heel to face her.

There's a light flush to his face, and his eyes are glittering bright. Loki is panting lightly from excitement, and his breath only quickens further as she takes the belt in hand.

Loki lets his coat fall from his shoulders to pool at his feet. The buttons of his shirt are undone, a brief fumbling of his normally deft fingers betraying him. And then boots, pants.

But he doesn't move further towards the bed. Loki shifts his stance enough to make it plainly clear that she'll need to give him another shove, or perhaps drag him there.

"Now, what are you going to do with that?"

She watches, her entire awareness on fire with the sight of him so compliant. She'd never imagined he had this in him. Then again, she's learned he is always one to surprise.

And physically, he is stunning. His mind had been and would always be the real draw to her, but the fact he was so beautiful only sweetened the pot. Especially when he trembles with anticipation. The moment he's free of his clothes, she grabs him by the wrist, the belt loop already arranged to close down tight with a flick of her wrist.

Thus caught, she puts a hand in the center of his chest and shoves him back towards the corner support of the bed. She lifts his captured hand, and flings the long end of the belt around the iron finial. She pins him with her body, and lifts his other hand to meet the first, binding it securely. She clearly knows her business, as she's lifted him up to stand on tip toe.

She keeps him pinned and drops one hand to curl around his rampant prick. Her breath is hot against his cheek, and she strokes him as she whispers her plans to him.

"Going to have my way with you, Skytreader. I'm going to make your skin ache and sing. Going to do my absolute best to make you beg and scream for me. And when you're so far gone you can barely remember your name, I'm going to take you to bed and let you service me with this lovely prick of yours. Sound like fun to you?"

He does make her work to restrain him, but not with any intent of escaping. Just for the sake of feeling her muscles flex and tighten against him, her body pressed close and firm and strong. The caress of her fine silk gown against his bare skin only ratchets up his desire another notch, another forcible feeling of helplessness, vulnerability.

Another step towards the bliss of utter surrender.

He smiles with teeth bared, laughs low in his throat at the feel the leather tighten around his wrist. He squirms and struggles as she pins him, muscles already burning pleasantly at the resistance, and the friction of her body coiled tight against him only makes him harder.

The end result is the same and just what he wanted. His hands, pinned and bound. His body, bared and arched tight. Ari against him, made almost feral with desire and hunger, clearly ready to take and enjoy.

The shifting of his body becomes less a play at resistance and more a welcome of her touch, arching into her hand as she strokes him. But it's her words, low and full of promise, that really make him shudder, twitch in her hand, tearing a soft, broken little sound from his lips that's almost a whimper.

"Promises, promises." He whispers back. "I wonder if you're truly capable of keeping them."

Once he's truly secured, she steps back, making a point to lick the few pearls of moisture from her fingers, holding his gaze the whole while.

She only has to take a half-step back to be out of his reach. And then she begins to disrobe. She slides the gown off her shoulders, and lets it fall. Another dagger sheath is strapped to her wrist, and she unbuckles it, and then the one on her thigh. The thin strap that holds her thigh holster is stripped away from the sheath, and stretched between her hands.

Standing there in a thin chemise, giving him tantalizing hints of what lies beneath, she steps in close again. He can't see her hands, but he can hear her work the leather into a shape that pleases her.

"I will make a believer of you. I will make you sorry you ever doubted." She gathers his bollocks, stroking over heated velvet skin, and loops the leather strip around both his cock and balls, cinching it until she hears that little hitch in his breath that indicates she's found the exact right tightness.

She drops a kiss to his chest, her lips wet and hot on his skin. Her fingertips rest on the shivering muscles of his torso, and she's very careful to avoid touching the heated flesh now so prettily displayed for her pleasure.

"Going to write my desire for you in every inch of this pale flesh. Going to worship you." She sinks her teeth into the flesh just above his nipple, not hard enough to break the skin, but only just.

He doesn't bother to hide the lust in his eyes as she disrobes, his gaze raking over every inch of skin newly revealed to him as the gown slithers to the floor. The chemise remains, of course, but it highlights what is there more than it hides.

She steps in, close enough for him to feel the heat of her body. He does try to look for her hands, on reflex as much as anything. His curiosity, his anticipation, only spikes when he hears her twisting the leather. And then the rough material finds his already aching shaft, and he knows what she means to do, and in any other circumstances he would spare himself the sweet torture that he knows is her plan. But he can't, not like this, he's helpless like this, helpless to do anything except feel the leather drawn tighter and tighter until he throbs under the pressure, tearing a helpless little whine from his throat. It's intense enough that Loki goes almost limp in his bonds, head arching back.

He could never doubt her ability to break him down, but in that moment, he almost apologizes then and there. Loki is already trembling, and her touch, her kiss, doesn't help. And he cries out in pain as she bites, but wouldn't have shifted away even if he could.

"Ariadne..." She might intend to worship him, but he gasps her name like a prayer.

She sucks in a breath at the sound of her name on his lips. He never says her name. It takes her a span of heart beats to collect herself, and her head drops to rest on his breastbone, her breath feathering hot and heavy on his skin.

But she pulls it together. With both hands, she drags her nails down over his ribs and his sides, down the iliac furrow that defines the perfection of his torso. He is an expanse of territory to be claimed and conquered, and she will own him completely by the time she is done. She falls to her knees, and begins again, down the insides of his thighs.

"Spread your legs for me. Up on your toes. There." Sharp nails become a smooth flat hand, all the way down to his ankles. And then she stops touching him, leaving him hanging without sensation until she hears him draw a breath.

She leans closer, lips parted, letting him feel her breath cast over his thigh, traveling up, following the pulse of his heart beat. Over the taut skin of his balls, up along the magnificent keel of his prick, lingering for a breath at the crown. Letting him twist and reach for her, giving him no relief.

Edited 2013-12-28 14:30 (UTC)

He never says her name, but it feels like an age since anyone has reduced him to this. Were he in any fit state, her reaction is one he would file away to use against her later. But Loki is not in any fit state right now. She's barely touched him, and he's already ready to beg.

Loki squirms in his bonds to meet her hands, her nails, even as they light up lines of sharp pain along his skin. He wants her cuts, her marks, her bruises. Wants to be able to look down at himself and see everywhere she's been. Wants to be claimed, conquered, owned, controlled. He wants her to hurt him, now that he's helpless to do anything to change it. "Mark me. Make me see. Make me yours'." He speaks in a strangled gasp, barely above a whisper. He tries to make it an order, but it has the tone of a plea.

Hazy with pleasure, pain, and need, it takes him a second to realize she's spoken once more. Once he has, he obeys with a soft whine, spreading his legs. It's easy to stay up on his toes - he can't quite get his feet flat on the floor as it is.

Loki aches with anticipation, feeling her breath ghost over his shaft. It's anticipation that goes unsatisfied, and he trembles with the effort of not reaching for her, begging with his body for her to take him now. Frustration still makes him want to sob, hot and tight in his stomach and throat.

He is exquisite like this, and she intends to do just as he asks. But if he has learned anything about her in their time together, he should know the one thing she does not need is a man telling her how to go about her business. She pulls back to survey her canvas, sucking on her lower lip as she considers just where to begin. While she's on her knees, her hands cast about in his clothes for his belt. It's not exactly what she needs, but it will do for the moment. She sets it within easy reach, still out of his peripheral vision.

His wedding tackle makes such a lovely picture, bound up tight together like that. She can feel the heat coming off the tender flesh, ruddy and swollen, ripe for the taking. She draws her nails over the taut skin of his bollocks, grazing soft and slow, listening to the sound of his breath hitching in his chest. And when she's at the end of her pass, her fingers twist and she lets a vicious flick fly, right where it counts. Her hands grab his hips to keep him still, to pin him so he can't run away from the sensation. While he's reeling, she presses her mouth, soft and wet, suckling at the offended flesh, drawing it out for as long as she can.

Still holding him by the hips, she looks up into his face with dark, savage eyes. His prick grazes her cheek, and she bares her teeth at him, clicking her incisors together loud enough for him to hear.

The next bite falls on the soft skin at the point of his hip. She worries his flesh with sharp teeth, marking him almost to the point of drawing blood, claiming him with a quiet moan of her own. She wants to cover his senses, until she blots out the sun, and there is nothing left but her.

He knows this perfectly well by now. That's part of why he'd mustered up his energy to push her in that very specific fashion, wanting to goad her on until he was absolutely certain she'd be absolutely merciless on him. The other part was pride. Loki might savor the feeling of being conquered and controlled, but to not make his partner work for it was unthinkable. He hoped it made her feel even a tenth of the frustration that was tormenting him.

He wants to writhe and beg, wants to scream with the frustration of being untouched and aching, but Loki only smiles unsteadily at her when she pulls away. His eyes are already hazy with lust and surrender. He doesn't even notice her taking hold of his belt.

And then her hands are on him, soft and applying just enough pressure that it feels impossibly good. He closes his eyes, unwittingly relaxing into her touch before pain lights up his body, making him twist in his bonds with a cry. But, shaken and tormented and weakened with need, she'll find it easy to hold him in place.

His cock throbs hard against her cheek, and Loki whimpers as awareness slowly returns. The first thing he sees is her on her knees, staring up at him, and the look in her eyes makes him dizzy.

Loki lets out his breath in a shuddering sigh as her teeth find his hip. He can feel the pressure of her teeth increasing, but right now, with the fire of pain only just fading between his legs, he can't even muster up the energy to squirm. He can only stand here and feel her biting down, harder and harder, feel himself bruise, and moan shamelessly as he does, head falling back against the bed's support.

When she's satisfied she's marred that pale perfection, she withdraws, her nails raking where she lets him go. She stands, and the belt creaks in her hand.

"Head up. Look at me when I speak to you." She reaches up and grabs a handful of his hair and pulls his head up. "There. Better." She takes a brief moment to stroke his head, letting him feel the tenderness she can bestow upon him. "Pay attention now. Focus, love." When she steps back, it's with a look of pure adoration, held only in her eyes.

Her arm sweeps through the air, and a lick of fire strikes his left thigh, the tail of the belt curling around the inner crease, just inches from his bollocks. She's given men lashes before and she knows how to put her leather exactly where she wants it to go.

The blows fall with a methodical efficiency, stripe after stripe, from hip to knee. Her hand presses flat against his chest steadying him as she studies the marks, her face a mask of cool appraisal. Apparently, she finds them to her liking, and she steps back, holding his gaze again, and begins again, this time down the other thigh. She doesn't stop until he's breathless, and both thighs are marked with a dozen stinging crimson welts.

Edited 2013-12-30 14:30 (UTC)

He tries to obey. He wants to obey. And the world has narrowed to just him and her and her voice and whatever sparking sensations she chooses to inflict on him.

Loki manages to keep his head up and open his eyes, regarding her with hazy eyes, pleasure and pain mingling in every line of him. When she strokes his hair, he whimpers, trying to lean into her touch, the pain and sharpness only heightening the pleasure and softness - as he knows she knew it would.

And it lowers his defenses for when the line of fire opens up on his thigh, followed mercilessly by more. He wants to look, wants to see the marks she's left, wants to admire them, but he doesn't. Loki keeps his gaze obediently on her instead. He doesn't bother to stifle his cries of pain as she lays down lash after lash, but the pain fades as it always does to a warm, pleasant burn all over.

In the end, he's left breathless and gasping, each inhale and exhale edged with an animal whine.

In the end, she is as breathless as he is, though she keeps her jaw clenched. The belt falls from her hand, forgotten, and she steps in close, her hands smoothing down his quivering sides. She pins him with her body, her breasts against his chest, trapping his cock against her flat stomach, needing to feel his trembling muscles against her skin.

Her voice is quiet, rough as raw silk, and she murmurs against his chest. "You are perfect like this. I need you to know that. You are perfect, and you are mine." Her tongue laves gentle circles around his nipple before her sharp teeth catch just enough skin to keep him on that sweet edge. She soothes the bite with a suckling kiss, moaning at the salt of his sweat on her lips, the sound of his voice coursing in her veins like the best champagne, going straight to her head. She pulls back to look him in the eye, her gaze dark and full of promise. "Mine. To do with as I please."

She slips to her knees, kissing and biting all the way, until she can bury her nose in the thatch of wiry black hair that frames his aching cock. One hand holds him still, and the other slowly, carefully releases the binding around his cock and balls.

She drinks in the scent of him, reveling in the whimpers and moans as the blood flow returns, each pulse of his heart throbbing between his legs. When she can't take anymore, she presses her mouth to that soft velvet skin and the iron beneath. She sucks a line up that glorious ridge, all the way to the crown. Her tongue scribes circles, teasing over the nerve rich flesh of his foreskin, tormenting him with the promise of heaven until he's almost begging. Only then does she draw him into the silken heat of her mouth. Her hands cast over his hips, down his thighs, stroking lightly over those angry red welts.

She takes him over her lips and pours herself into this simple act, letting him feel just how much he's pleased her. Letting him know she's claiming him not just with pain but with something pure, something impossibly soft and sweet. Something utterly decadent and intimate.

Edited 2014-01-04 16:54 (UTC)

He trembles, shakes with the force of sensation. And so Loki finds himself craving the sensation of her body pressed tight against his, as though it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

He presses back against her, panting for breath. His moan as her lips find his nipple becomes a sharp, pained gasp, trailing away to a weak whimper. "Yours'," he agrees desperately. "Whatever you want. However you need. Yours'."

He's outright begging for release by the time she kneels down and when it comes, when it finally comes, he almost sobs with it, almost comes undone in that moment. For a long moment, he can only hang in his bonds, throbbing, feeling, trembling.

And when she finally takes him into her mouth, he thanks her, knowing that he must have done well, must have truly pleased her. Loki lets his head fall back, eyes falling closed, and it's not long at all before he comes long, hard, and crying out her name.

He says her name, cries out her name, and she chokes back a sob of her own. His voice, twisted up in pleasure, catches her off guard and slices through her like razor wire. Breathing hard, she holds him, gentles him back to a place of calm, and then stands, slow and deliberate, one of her smaller daggers in her palm. She stays close, careful not to let him see her face, breathing him in, murmuring soft, meaningless syllables against his skin.

She stretches up, and slices his bonds, ready to catch him if he falls. "Mine," she breathes, guiding his head around so she can kiss him. "Come lie down with me." She takes his arm over her shoulder and bears his weight, guiding him around the pillar to the bed proper.

He does slump against her when his arms fall, heavy and numb and useless, to his sides. Loki just manages to keep himself from falling over entirely at the very last minute, leaning back against the pillar he'd just been bound to.

Loki leans into the kiss shamelessly, made clumsy by exhaustion and pleasure and pain as he drinks in her gentleness. "Yours'," he agrees in a whisper when she pulls away. He leans against her when she lets him, not caring just so long as she stays close. And when he finally all but collapses onto the bed, the softness of the mattress against his aching muscles and marked skin draws another whimper from Loki. Reflexively, he makes to curl up into the blankets like an animal in its nest.

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barkingmad - 2014-01-06 17:49 (UTC) - Expand

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Loki | MCU | OTA

Ari | OC | Couldn't resist tagging you again.

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I would be more than up for working aftercare into this, btw.

Done.

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