[ Subtlety is best left for lies served straight into the eyes and ears of enemies. Loki, at least in this life, only takes people he trusts for lovers and luxuriates in not having the host deception about it. He's the Trickster and Silvertongue, but he's also very, very Asgardian at heart no matter the original Jotun blood that runs (hotly now) through his veins when rutting the beautiful man in his arms into the couch. If he wants to fuck and his passes are accepted, all bets are off.
As the Prince of Lies, he knows better than most how important it is not to play tricks with consent and clarity when it comes to sex.
Tommy doesn't protest in the slightest, not in any way that counts. That's good, that's damn good, just like a smart mouth which is now all Loki's privilege to shut up with fervid kisses that steal depth and lend hunger with each bite. Black nails rake through white hair, tersely wrenching back those locks in a fist; Tommy's thigh is hitched up high around Loki's waist to allow for a firm grind, a hard line growing in the god's jeans as they drag right down the middle of those parted around him, slow and slower. He could fuck him to this self-same tempo for hours, thrice-mortal stamina withstanding ...
Green eyes peer down to watch Tommy's face, dull pressure rhythmically nudging up behind a trapped sac to see if he likes that. Having his cock stroked is a given, that kind of predictability can wait while Loki explores what the speedster prefers, whether he's hiding any kinks close to the surface. ]
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[ Subtlety is best left for lies served straight into the eyes and ears of enemies. Loki, at least in this life, only takes people he trusts for lovers and luxuriates in not having the host deception about it. He's the Trickster and Silvertongue, but he's also very, very Asgardian at heart no matter the original Jotun blood that runs (hotly now) through his veins when rutting the beautiful man in his arms into the couch. If he wants to fuck and his passes are accepted, all bets are off.
As the Prince of Lies, he knows better than most how important it is not to play tricks with consent and clarity when it comes to sex.
Tommy doesn't protest in the slightest, not in any way that counts. That's good, that's damn good, just like a smart mouth which is now all Loki's privilege to shut up with fervid kisses that steal depth and lend hunger with each bite. Black nails rake through white hair, tersely wrenching back those locks in a fist; Tommy's thigh is hitched up high around Loki's waist to allow for a firm grind, a hard line growing in the god's jeans as they drag right down the middle of those parted around him, slow and slower. He could fuck him to this self-same tempo for hours, thrice-mortal stamina withstanding ...
Green eyes peer down to watch Tommy's face, dull pressure rhythmically nudging up behind a trapped sac to see if he likes that. Having his cock stroked is a given, that kind of predictability can wait while Loki explores what the speedster prefers, whether he's hiding any kinks close to the surface. ]