Gamer, Roleplayer and one of THOSE fangirls...
Snow White and the Huntsman AU RP between Sabrajay and myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colour had ceased. In a moment, an instant, there was nothing but grey and black. Grief was like that. A foul taste in one’s mouth and emptiness in one’s chest. A stabbing dagger in the heart that never quite kills. It…
Reeds whistled as a soft wind blew across the lush, green planes. A pregnant pause befell the enchanted forest; the newcomer’s presence causing a comfortable, silent hum of anticipation. Here, humans were a rarity. Among the creatures that thrived in the forest, dwarves were the closest resemblance.
Travellers had ceased long before the rule of Queen Ravenna, the forest becoming more secluded than it already was. Refuge, for any animal or being that had even the slightest air of magicks or light within, no matter how slight. Home, for many creatures just as such.
This was one place that the darkness, the cold, had not touched. It was as if there were a veil; a protector. For all that the Dark Forest crowed at Her victories, at all the lives She claimed and devoured, Her purpose was naught without the Enchanted Forest. All who braved Her and lived, were worthy of her pure, altruistic sister. And She would make sure all who travelled were well tested, to all lengths and measures. Yes, She was dark, evil and stank of death… but she was still of the land, and each part of the lands birthings were connected in a way no being other than Mother Nature could understand herself.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, the music began to softly play once more. With a slow nod, the faerie folk and the creatures bore no more anxiety towards the strange presence. Spirits returned to their norm, despite the lacklustre man splayed on the grass. He was a Hunter; his weapons had been taken and his wounds clean, healing slowly with the help of enchantments.
Never straying close, the White Stag watched from afar as the Huntsman began to awaken from his magicked slumber. The Dark Forest was not her only protector, it seemed.
The warmth beckoned him from his slumber like the lightest touches of petal lips on his skin. His worn hand reached out to the muted blue of the sky, yet he found his limbs still heavy. With a gentle sigh, he shifted and made to rise from the soft earth. It let him from its kind embrace and the thought began to dully press on his mind. He was no longer on unhallowed land. This place was different. It breathed magick into the air and reached out to stroke at his arms and legs.
‘What is this place?’ His voice accented the area around him. There was a rasp in his throat. Perhaps water would see to it. The Huntsman listened until the faintest of trickles alerted him to a creak. Yes…water would not go astray. So, with reverent, cautious silence he moved to the water’s edge. He dipped down and swept the clear liquid up to his lips. It was sweet, he swore on his life it was.
The lightest of music played, so softly that it could easily just be passed as wind breezing past. The forest and faerie sang to him sweetly, encouraging his wounds to heal and his body to recover.
Curious creatures began to emerge, but only the most common, so as not to alert the Huntsman. Gentle eyes peered at him, some losing interest quickly and continuing on their way. The lush, green forestry around seemed to pull at his clothes gently, an excited feel to the wind.
It must have been days, weeks before the first faerie was seen. Slowly, they had become used to the intrusion and began to accept his presence amongst them. The forest began opening to him, urging him to explore. Their songs of healing continued.
The White Stag watched, still at a distance. Shining black eyes followed the Huntsman, always with him. Always watching. Sometimes it seemed satisfied with his current state, and would only spare him a glance and disappear once more. Today, it lay upon a soft meadow of grass and only half-watched him, more content to listen to the song of the creature of magick.
The glimmer of white, so pure, caught the Huntsman’s attention. He turned, ever so slowly, his gaze falling upon the beautiful beast. It was the most radiant being he had ever laid his eyes on. There was grace in the line of its neck, its head moving to survey around it. Before he could think, he was rising to his feet and moving toward the meadow. His footfalls were soft, even though he knew it was aware of him. Surely it would startle and flee. But he found himself drawing closer than he ever thought he could manage. His fingers almost ached to know the velvety feel of the stag’s pelt, to trace the curves and lines of the pulchritudinous antlers.
‘Aren’t you a fine thing…?’ He hummed, reaching out a worn hand. ‘At home here…with such magik…’ He knew there would be no response. Perhaps for once in his misery he hoped for words from another, even if he knew he sought it from the wrong place.
Chris’s fingers slipped underneath the Englishman’s hand and tangled with his. With a gentle squeeze, he silently reassured Tom. Not a single thing worried him. If the media wished to whisper horrid things about him, he was not going to give them the satisfaction of tearing him down. His life was his own, they had no say in the matter or the direction of his life.
He leant over slightly and planted a gentle kiss on the slighter male’s temple.
‘Let them talk about it. Let everyone talk…that’s all they ever do,’ the Australian murmured, lips brushing Tom’s skin. ‘If I stopped to listen to every criticism…I wouldn’t get anywhere, Thomas.’
“Of course,” the older spoke softly, turning his head slightly into the kiss. “I also mean for your career… I don’t want to be a cause for something terrible to happen. Perhaps you should speak to your agent beforehand?”
Tom surprised himself with how worried he sounded. He was meant to be older, more experienced, but this wasn’t exactly a situation he had come across before. What if it all went horribly wrong? What if he caused more trouble for Chris than he was worth? He squeezed Chris’ hand back, his thumb rubbing over the tanned skin. “If we have to keep this a secret, I’m more than happy to…”
The younger male made a face.
‘It’s not that. It’s just…look…our business is our business,’ he explained. ‘Everyone else has got a level of privacy, why can’t we? What we do in our homes should be for us…’ Leaning forward, Chris pressed a kiss to Tom’s cheek. ‘Why can’t it just be about us…?’ His voice fell to a whisper, his gaze intently set on the Englishman’s face. He couldn’t understand it. It was just for them, this here and now. It was not as if they were going to rub it in everyone’s faces, jump into interviews and claim that the world had to pay attention to every little thing that they did. He seemed to look to the other for answers, like Tom could give him them all.
Snow White and the Huntsman AU RP between Sabrajay and myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colour had ceased. In a moment, an instant, there was nothing but grey and black. Grief was like that. A foul taste in one’s mouth and emptiness in one’s chest. A stabbing dagger in the heart that never quite kills. It…
Reeds whistled as a soft wind blew across the lush, green planes. A pregnant pause befell the enchanted forest; the newcomer’s presence causing a comfortable, silent hum of anticipation. Here, humans were a rarity. Among the creatures that thrived in the forest, dwarves were the closest resemblance.
Travellers had ceased long before the rule of Queen Ravenna, the forest becoming more secluded than it already was. Refuge, for any animal or being that had even the slightest air of magicks or light within, no matter how slight. Home, for many creatures just as such.
This was one place that the darkness, the cold, had not touched. It was as if there were a veil; a protector. For all that the Dark Forest crowed at Her victories, at all the lives She claimed and devoured, Her purpose was naught without the Enchanted Forest. All who braved Her and lived, were worthy of her pure, altruistic sister. And She would make sure all who travelled were well tested, to all lengths and measures. Yes, She was dark, evil and stank of death… but she was still of the land, and each part of the lands birthings were connected in a way no being other than Mother Nature could understand herself.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, the music began to softly play once more. With a slow nod, the faerie folk and the creatures bore no more anxiety towards the strange presence. Spirits returned to their norm, despite the lacklustre man splayed on the grass. He was a Hunter; his weapons had been taken and his wounds clean, healing slowly with the help of enchantments.
Never straying close, the White Stag watched from afar as the Huntsman began to awaken from his magicked slumber. The Dark Forest was not her only protector, it seemed.
The warmth beckoned him from his slumber like the lightest touches of petal lips on his skin. His worn hand reached out to the muted blue of the sky, yet he found his limbs still heavy. With a gentle sigh, he shifted and made to rise from the soft earth. It let him from its kind embrace and the thought began to dully press on his mind. He was no longer on unhallowed land. This place was different. It breathed magick into the air and reached out to stroke at his arms and legs.
‘What is this place?’ His voice accented the area around him. There was a rasp in his throat. Perhaps water would see to it. The Huntsman listened until the faintest of trickles alerted him to a creak. Yes…water would not go astray. So, with reverent, cautious silence he moved to the water’s edge. He dipped down and swept the clear liquid up to his lips. It was sweet, he swore on his life it was.
The lightest of music played, so softly that it could easily just be passed as wind breezing past. The forest and faerie sang to him sweetly, encouraging his wounds to heal and his body to recover.
Curious creatures began to emerge, but only the most common, so as not to alert the Huntsman. Gentle eyes peered at him, some losing interest quickly and continuing on their way. The lush, green forestry around seemed to pull at his clothes gently, an excited feel to the wind.
It must have been days, weeks before the first faerie was seen. Slowly, they had become used to the intrusion and began to accept his presence amongst them. The forest began opening to him, urging him to explore. Their songs of healing continued.
The White Stag watched, still at a distance. Shining black eyes followed the Huntsman, always with him. Always watching. Sometimes it seemed satisfied with his current state, and would only spare him a glance and disappear once more. Today, it lay upon a soft meadow of grass and only half-watched him, more content to listen to the song of the creature of magick.
Time moved both perpetually fast and painstakingly slow for him as though it had gotten away from him and worked only to leave him wondering. But time was not all that occupied his mind. The woods around him had so openly welcomed him and whispered her secrets to him. The first signs of faeries had startled and fascinated him, leading him through the green fields amoungst the life filled trees. Despite all that called for his attention, he was never oblivious to the ever present white being that stayed in very limits of his peripheral. Until it chose to reveal itself to him, he would not disturb it. The huntsman found himself growing more reverent and comfortable in this place, he would not move to disrupt the peace of this enchanted forest.
There was peace here. Even without drink, he found sanctuary. Something was watching over him, checking up on him but never criticizing him. It was the most at home he had felt in the longest time and the sense was odd. There was no house to call his own, nothing worldly for him to lay claim. Yet there was a strange belonging. The woods had so readily accepted him.
In that comfort, he found a routine in his own. In the morning he would bathe, during the day he would seek food, watch the creatures and perhaps even interact with them…And when the sun began to set, and the moon rose into the blood orange sky, he found a place to rest his head. Though fatigue no longer held him, he slept to dream…A man dressed in white with kind eyes would visit the plains of his dream scape. There were words whispered that he did not understand, but he knew them to be kind. The man…he was gentle and amiable. Even as the huntsman woke, he could still feel those long pale fingers brushing his cheeks, the warmth creeping down through the hollows of his eyelids and down to his bones. He would rise and always search for the graceful figure of his dreams, but found nothing each time. The thought never seemed to trouble him, however. There was nothing but easement here.
As he bathed, one morn, he found himself in pause. There was a shift in the environment around him on this day. Slowly, he rose from where he crouched by the creak, wiping the water from his stubbled face. Something was in the air. It was a hum, a buzz. There was presence, perhaps familiar but closer than he had ever felt it before. Slowly, his crystal blue eyes swept the area around him. Something was close…
http://sabrajay.tumblr.com/post/31766152712/something-borrowed-4
One could only call it as it was; a glorious, messy end to their less than graceful coitus. Thor snarled against the liesmith’s neck, spilling inside him as deep as he could. His whole body was taught, pulled tight. His muscles…
Breath ragged, Loki didn’t answer his not-brother at first. The waves racking his body finally died down; the aches returned, evidence of their coupling cooling on his skin and clothes. The younger had expected to feel boneless, sated… wanted.
He did not.
Green irises quickly focused on their surroundings; still alone. With an undignified grunt he shifted, testing muscles, surveying the level of magic he’d need to fix this mistake. In one fluid motion he pulled himself up and off, an undignified squelching following his movements.
Fury sparked within his gut, spreading to his chest like wildfire. Filth crawled up his skin, seeping into his pores and blackening his blood. A flick of the wrist clothed and cleaned both of them, magic he should have never had to use. How could he have been so stupid? He was not some lovesick maiden needing comfort.
Liar; a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him. Even in his subdued state the Golden son of Asgard knew how to crawl under even Jotun skin and infect all senses. He had been careless, and he could feel Thunder itching in his veins. It was unlike any previous coupling he had ever experienced.
Turning, the trickster narrowed his eyes at the god seated on the Stark couch, his armour and sceptre appearing once more. “Made to be ruled, am I…? No, Thor, I will never be your subject, your servant. I will not kneel to the likes of any Asgardian as wretched as your family.”
Thor remained lounging, arm stretched across the back of the plush couch.
‘Yet if I asked, you would be on your knees before me worshipping every inch of me…’ Looking rather haughty, the slightest of smiles touched his lips. ‘I could snap my fingers…I am as you want me to be Loki. Is this not how you twisted me?’ Slowly, he rose and crossed the distance to the liesmith. ‘You wanted a throne. I am your throne…your crown…your king…’ Large hands found Loki’s face. Thor’s skin was rough on his pale, smooth cheeks as his fingers tracked down to his neck.
There was a pause, a moment where Loki could swear that those hands made to tighten around his throat, yet the thunderer did not live up to his suspicions. Instead, he idly thumbed at the other’s adams apple, a low rumble rising from his chest. ‘King or no…My love remains…’
Hiddlesworth RP with ENDGAM3
Chris’s fingers slipped underneath the Englishman’s hand and tangled with his. With a gentle squeeze, he silently reassured Tom. Not a single thing worried him. If the media wished to whisper horrid things about him, he was not going to give them the satisfaction of tearing him down. His life was his own, they had no say in the matter or the direction of his life.
He leant over slightly and planted a gentle kiss on the slighter male’s temple.
‘Let them talk about it. Let everyone talk…that’s all they ever do,’ the Australian murmured, lips brushing Tom’s skin. ‘If I stopped to listen to every criticism…I wouldn’t get anywhere, Thomas.’
Snow White and the Huntsman AU RP between Sabrajay and myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colour had ceased. In a moment, an instant, there was nothing but grey and black. Grief was like that. A foul taste in one’s mouth and emptiness in one’s chest. A stabbing dagger in the heart that never quite kills. It…
Reeds whistled as a soft wind blew across the lush, green planes. A pregnant pause befell the enchanted forest; the newcomer’s presence causing a comfortable, silent hum of anticipation. Here, humans were a rarity. Among the creatures that thrived in the forest, dwarves were the closest resemblance.
Travellers had ceased long before the rule of Queen Ravenna, the forest becoming more secluded than it already was. Refuge, for any animal or being that had even the slightest air of magicks or light within, no matter how slight. Home, for many creatures just as such.
This was one place that the darkness, the cold, had not touched. It was as if there were a veil; a protector. For all that the Dark Forest crowed at Her victories, at all the lives She claimed and devoured, Her purpose was naught without the Enchanted Forest. All who braved Her and lived, were worthy of her pure, altruistic sister. And She would make sure all who travelled were well tested, to all lengths and measures. Yes, She was dark, evil and stank of death… but she was still of the land, and each part of the lands birthings were connected in a way no being other than Mother Nature could understand herself.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, the music began to softly play once more. With a slow nod, the faerie folk and the creatures bore no more anxiety towards the strange presence. Spirits returned to their norm, despite the lacklustre man splayed on the grass. He was a Hunter; his weapons had been taken and his wounds clean, healing slowly with the help of enchantments.
Never straying close, the White Stag watched from afar as the Huntsman began to awaken from his magicked slumber. The Dark Forest was not her only protector, it seemed.
The warmth beckoned him from his slumber like the lightest touches of petal lips on his skin. His worn hand reached out to the muted blue of the sky, yet he found his limbs still heavy. With a gentle sigh, he shifted and made to rise from the soft earth. It let him from its kind embrace and the thought began to dully press on his mind. He was no longer on unhallowed land. This place was different. It breathed magick into the air and reached out to stroke at his arms and legs.
‘What is this place?’ His voice accented the area around him. There was a rasp in his throat. Perhaps water would see to it. The Huntsman listened until the faintest of trickles alerted him to a creak. Yes…water would not go astray. So, with reverent, cautious silence he moved to the water’s edge. He dipped down and swept the clear liquid up to his lips. It was sweet, he swore on his life it was.
“Stop this… This mopey, pessimistic, self-doubting Chris. I don’t like him.” Slender fingers reached up and Tom held Chris’ face in his hands, drumming his fingers lightly. “I like the Chris that knows what he wants, even if he doesn’t know how to get it.. The Chris that knows he’s given his best efforts. Do I need to go on about how brilliant and wonderful you are?” The Englishman tilted his head, patting the blonde on the cheek and pressing their lips together. After he moved his hands to slide up and over the broad chest in front of him, coming to rest on his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb in circles and pressed closer, easing Chris back into the counter as he flicked his tongue out against the others’ bottom lip.“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” Tom offered a smile, squeezing the waist in his grip for support. He tilted his head, placing gentle kisses along the length of Chris’ neck and across his shoulder. He’d be lying if he said his body was satisfied with the light teasing it received this morning, but didn’t think the timing quite appropriate. “It is nice to know that I’m not a home wrecker, I suppose. Can I at least ask why you never told me? All this time… I only found out last night, you know.”‘There’s not alot to say, you know?’ He sighed, shifting his grip around Tom. ‘We just didn’t have the time…We were apart too much and we just…grew distant. So we made the choice to split…’ Again there was a shrug from the Australian. There was a slight amount pain showing on his face, but in truth it seemed he was just trying to recant things as distantly as he possibly could.
Chris tilted his head, finding purchase against Tom’s, nuzzling him slightly.
‘Look, Tom…It’s nothing to do with not wanting to tell you…I just didn’t want you caught in the middle. You know? Picking sides…’ Again, he found himself trailing off, the right words slipping from him. He held Tom to him. ‘You’re not a home wrecker, Tom. I buried my feelings because I thought it was the right thing to do for everyone…’ With a sigh, the larger male took a second to recollect his thoughts. ‘I was with Elsa…I thought I was confusing you…I was pulling myself in two directions…I gave it my best shot, you know? I’m not sure if I’m less of a bad person because of that effort or…I’m still scum for loving you in part while being married…’
Chris moaned against his lips, pleased with the contact.
‘Not nearly as brilliant as you, mate…Tom…do have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you…?’ His large hands ran down the Englishman’s sides, finding each curve and line through the fabric of his shirt. ‘You just deserve to be loved,’ he murmured against the other’s jawline. He smelt good, fresh from the shower with his aftershave still lingering on his skin. He could feel the warmth of their bodies mingling and he wanted to more than just that. A quiet sound from his daughter reminded him just where they were and he cleared his throat.
Tom gave his trademark laugh, the expression on Chris’ face priceless. “And now youunderstand how I felt this morning, my love.” Ignoring the warmth that threatened his loins, the older man stole another kiss from the younger and backed out into the living room. He turned to the child in front of him and sat down, legs folded in front of him. “Hello darling, what do you have there? Is that a building? Oh it’s precious- Christopher, you simply must marvel at how artistic your daughter is with these building blocks…” He continued chatting, not particularly expecting a response.
The Australian sauntered over, a coy smile tugging at his lips. Chris was more than pleased to stay to the side and watch the scene play out. It lifted his spirits and the weight that had settled on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this at peace. Making his way over, he crouched beside his daughter and placed a gentle kiss on her head.
‘Tell me this can last, Tom…’ he breathed, reaching out to brush his fingers over Tom’s wrist.
http://sabrajay.tumblr.com/post/31766152712/something-borrowed-4
One could only call it as it was; a glorious, messy end to their less than graceful coitus. Thor snarled against the liesmith’s neck, spilling inside him as deep as he could. His whole body was taught, pulled tight. His muscles flexed, twitched and coiled until he finally came down from his high. Glorious. With a shuddering breath, the thunderer rested his head on Loki’s shoulder.
‘Have I pleased my king…?’ He uttered, voice slightly raw. His large hands fell upon the slighter male’s thighs, his right sticky and wet. ‘Or do I need to work harder for you?’
Snow White and the Huntsman AU RP between Sabrajay and myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colour had ceased. In a moment, an instant, there was nothing but grey and black. Grief was like that. A foul taste in one’s mouth and emptiness in one’s chest. A stabbing dagger in the heart that never quite kills. It will turn a good man to the drink. Turn a weaker man to the end of his own blade. At least with the bottle there was a glimmer of hope to see what one has lost at the bottom of it. There is no taste to it, though and the burning has long since subsided. Yet every scrap of coin or keep will be lost to wine or swill…because that little hope will forever be there. It was liken to being underwater, however. Movements slow, senses dull turning even skilled warriors to clumsy fools with the stubbornness a mule.
Not all leave such men to their drink. With false promises, truly one could lead a man from the bottle. Offerings of what was lost is enough to move a man to enter even the most dreaded of domains all the hope of seeing love lost once more. But lies are lies. Sooner or later the truth comes to light, souring a deal. Like that between a witch queen and a huntsman. With a cruel smile she had promised him his dead wife. She had whispered of breathing life into his love once more for bringing back an item from a wretched forest. It was a grimoire. Just a book. Something small for a reward so great. With an expression grim like death, he accepted his task, taking up his axe. Though the Dark Forest was known to be crafty and dangerous like the queen, to have his wife in his arms again was all he needed to set him on the dark path. And so, with several of the queen’s men following his lead, the huntsman entered the forest.
A terrible place; the Dark Forest. It feeds of the fear of men, making every shadow and every sound a cause for panic. Horses dare not tread in it. No, the only way is on foot. Even then, the paths and trails are obscured and made to confuse. Thicket wraps around one’s limbs like snakes and mud holds a man’s boots like the ground wills to pull one under. The wind whispers through the trees like curses from a witch’s lips. Just illusions and tricks of the mind, but still enough to frighten some into panic. Yet the huntsman never faltered in his quest, his feet easily carrying him down the right trails. Some of the queen’s men were not so lucky in where they tread. They were claimed by the hungry earth and driven mad by toxins of mushrooms along the trail and those who were left still turned their swords on the huntsman when he found what the queen had requested. They had the gullet to laugh at him for his naive hope. He had the gullet to leave them at the mercy of the Dark Forest as he fled deeper with the queen’s prized grimoire.
She would have his head.
He would have her heart for lying.
But it was not to be so soon. For a single man cannot fell an army. Certainly not the likes of the queen’s. His spite lead him further into the forest instead. She was not to get her prize if he could help it, even if it meant the earth claiming him too.
————————
The path ahead was lurid, but the looming shadows behind left no room for retreat. Branches reached out like talons, making to ensnare and maim, and the horrid trees of the Dark Forest did not permit even the slightest glance of the sky above. Past and present resembled shackles in nature, weighing a body and soul with proverbial ball and chain. Each step seemed harder than the last, yet the stubbornness of the mind beared forth movement, leaving no rest for a weighted man. Had it been days? Had the moon become full and waxing many times over? To a weary huntsman it blurred. His drink had run out long ago, taking his last comfort with it. How far he had gone was beyond him. He had never trekked this far within the Dark Forest. It seemed endless. The thought brought a new wave of fatigue to the huntsman’s slouching form. His bleary blue eyes stared into the darkness seeking an end to this death march. Just beyond the blanched trees and black soil, he saw a clearing…a small stone bridge. What last of his strength he had, it was used to cross the arch.
What lay ahead mystified the worn traveler. It was a green expanse, filled with life and light. The colours were so vibrant it was blinding. Yet they began to dull in his vision and fatigue gripped him, dragging him to the ground without mercy. The grass beneath him was softer than any bed he had slept in of late, comforting and welcoming. The warm wind caressed his face, lolling him to sleep. And as his heavy lids made to close he saw a vision of white and gold…
Loki groaned against the tight hand, throat vibrating with the sound. He was close. So close. He arched as warm breath brushed his ear, as he was pulled and dragged into each thrust. His pale hand gripped the bigger one that had dragged it away, and he squeezed hard enough to get his not-brother’s attention. ”Thor,” he rasped out, too pathetic for his own liking but not having much choice. “Shut up, Thor. Just shut up and touch me.”Thor slowed his pace, dragging out the pressure to torture the liesmith.
‘No, Loki…I am not like you…’ Holding him in place, he grunted into his ear, wanting nothing more than to continue his brute onslaught. But this is how it had to be. It was a lesson…a lesson that Loki wanted and needed. Biting down on the younger’s neck, his hips jerked up abruptly. ‘That is a truth that you must accept…’ He trailed off, his body speaking volumes where his words failed. The grip around Loki’s throat tightened ever so slightly and he kept himself still, silently waiting for the smaller to break.
The trickster gasped, part of him unwilling to antagonize Thor just so he would finish and not lay so damn stationary. With the lack of movement though, his patience was dwindling. He swallowed again, adam’s apple roughly bobbing against the giant hand around his throat.
“You’re right, of course. My dear brother… you could never fall into such a state as I. You’re far too precious, too righteous.” Loki’s lips curved back into a grin, his eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. “Is that what you want to hear? Me telling you how wonderful you are, as if you don’t have every Midgardian, every Aesir and every living being made of warmth singing your name already? Because I can sing your praise as much as I can sing your faults, but praise is so boring. Nobody will remember what you did wrong, but they will always remember what I have done. And let them, I say, for all that they cry despair and treachery, they expected this all along. There shouldn’t be any surprise.”
His hands left the golden thighs between him, and he brought a hand up to his neck and traced the line of Thor’s fingers, his hand, just teasingly. Thor was still not moving, and he didn’t trust the big meaty hands not to crush his windpipe if he tried to move against him. “You’ve done a poor job of pleasing me tonight, Thor. You’ve done nothing to satisfy my mind, only to try and torment it further.” He would not be giving his magic-ridden once-brother any more fuel, his thoughts were in a mess already and the bickering was starting to ruin his mood. With his free hand he reached down between his thighs again, gripping his already weeping need and pulling in firm, unabashed strokes. If Thor wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he would just have to find release with the thought of the golden son inside of him.
‘I act only as you want…Say only what you want to hear, Loki…’ The thunderer gripped Loki’s wrist, forbidding him from stroking himself. Pulling him more by his throat, Thor raised the younger up his length before dragging him back down painfully slow. His hips began to roll again. ‘All I have ever done is play into your hands,’ he breathed into the younger’s ear. ‘Each word you utter is what you want to tell yourself. An escape from the truth, an excuse to misbehave and strike out against those who held you dearly…’ Moving him as he continued to thrust, his lips mouthing a chant of a single word; ‘Liar…liar…liar…’
‘You own me, no? Make me, Loki…Will me, order me…’ His teeth closed on Loki’s shoulder, the leather blocking the brunt of the pain. ‘Or maybe I own you…’ The thundered clasped his hand tightly. ‘Beg for it, Loki. Let me hear you beg for me to let you find release…’ His thrusts became more brutal, erratic and savage, his body working for his need only. Their skin slapped together loudly, the sound rivalled only by their harsh breathing and strained groans. It was deliciously primal. Thor gave Loki’s throat a squeeze, momentarily cutting off his air.
The trickster gave a strangled sound, but his need strained at the treatment. He didn’t gasp, he couldn’t. He might have screamed at Thor if his throat wasn’t restrained, but he didn’t have that luxury. “Please-” he managed, his leathered torso suddenly feeling too stifling for his liking. “I beg of you, Thor.” He gripped the golden hand back just as tightly, rolling his own body down in time with Thor’s.
Releasing his throat, Thor reached down and grasped the liesmith’s arousal with an iron grip. He started an unforgiving pace, his strokes rough. Finally he let his own uttered sounds out, his lips against Loki’s ear with each grunt and low groan. He felt his own orgasm creeping up on him, the hot tendrils working from the very pit of his stomach and spreading out into the rest of him.
‘Yes…Loki…It was you who was made to be ruled…’
