the_variant | (no subject)

Entry tags:

loki,
pyre fest

(no subject)

Sylvie hates that they're here.

Nothing about the festival itself is interesting to her, not the music, not the camping, none of it really. But the possibility of an island having simply appeared, now that is absolutely fascinating. So she goes, she demands Loki goes with her, to see what they might be able to discover about the island, about Darrow, about the impossibility of it all. Their intentions are good, even if she doesn't know what they would have possibly used any of the answers for.

All this time, all these months, and she still doesn't know if she wants to leave or make sure they stay.

Things begin to go wrong almost immediately. The festival itself is a joke, with little food being supplied, and almost nothing Sylvie might call music, even within the loose definition Darrow uses for the subject. The tents are barely more than tarps and she's intent on getting back to Darrow properly at the first chance they have.

Except they miss the ferry. And they miss the ferry because, for longer than she'd like to admit, Sylvie had been floating following a bloody bee sting. By the time she finally figures out how to get down -- a second sting, which is really more luck than anything -- the first ferry is gone.

And the second ferry is on fire.

The first time Sylvie sees someone in a cloak, they're preparing to swing a bat toward Loki's head, and while she's certain he can protect himself, she still grabs his arm and yanks him back, shouting, "Down!"

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"I appreciate it," she answers, her tone dry even though she's smiling. "It'd be a bit of a difficult relationship if you were constantly holding that over me."

Her smile softens a bit and she lifts her hand, fingertips brushing away the errant tear. Then she leans in, kisses the damp trail on his face, tastes the salt on his skin.

"I love you," she says again, almost cautiously, as if she's afraid he'll take it back now, even after only a few minutes.

"I can be very magnanimous," he chuckled, his arms around her, pulling her into what could only be called an embrace.

"I love you," he murmured against her brow, his chin wobbling in such a way that would have been humiliating had he been in front of anyone else but her.

He held her, kissing her hair, her brow, the bridge of her nose, until finally, he found her mouth with his own.

He doesn't take it back, doesn't tell her he's changed his mind, and while she knows those thoughts are foolish, it doesn't change the way her entire body surges upon hearing the words from him, as if it were the first time. And she can feel the way his chin is trembling, can feel the warmth in his hands on her, and when she tilts her head up to meet his mouth with her own, it feels like her heart might thunder out of her chest.

This is what she's avoided for so long. Being loved. Being known.

And after all that, it feels rather nice.

Her lips parting for him, Sylvie slips her hands under his shirt, using a bit of magic to undo the buttons one by one all without having to stop touching him. Her fingers turn under, nails scratching lightly at his stomach as she presses closer, almost as if she's trying to crawl inside of him.

His shirt ended up gone, half by magic and half by the help of their hands. Later, it might occur to him how amusing it was, that the island seemed permissive to them using their magic for something like this. Perhaps it wanted them distracted, perhaps they were foolish, but in that moment, stopping wasn't even a possibility in his mind.

She scratched at him and he shivered, teeth catching on her bottom lip, his hands scrambling to remove her shirt.

She pulls back from the kiss long enough to hook her hands in the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, and when the waves of her hair tumble back against her shoulders, she finds Loki's mouth once more. Both her hands go to frame his face, holding his cheeks in her palms, her tongue sliding against his before she sinks her fingers into his hair.

They're not the same. No matter what they've said to one another, no matter what anyone else has said. They're no more the same than anyone else, shaped by their worlds, and Sylvie is glad his world has turned him out like this.

She pulls back again, then kisses his top of his shoulder, then pale plane of his chest, pushing him back down to the ground again with both her hands on his skin.

Chuckling softly as his back hit the sand, Loki slid the straps of her bra from her shoulders, fingertips grazing the lines of her collarbones, his mouth dry with the desire to taste her. He cupped her breasts through the practical cotton of her bra, thumbing at the pebbles of her nipples, his eyes dancing with mischief as he made the garment vanish all together.

"How's your head?" He inquired, sounding playfully casual as he touched her. "A concussion calls for a respite from strenuous activity."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to stop?" she asks with a tilt of her head, even as she closes her hands over Loki's, pressing her breasts into his palms, amused by the way he makes the bra simply disappear. A talent she's sure he's used more than a few times in his life.

"We could stop," she says with a slow roll of her hips, her hands still upon his, guiding his touch. "Or maybe we just have to take care not to get too strenuous."

Somehow she doubts they'll stick to that.

"Oh, of course. Think of it as a leisurely stroll," Loki suggested, with a teasing smile that was downright besotted.

He sat up abruptly, pulling one hand from her grasp and hooking an arm behind her back, his smiling mouth barely a hair's width from her own.

"Perhaps you should let me do the driving for now, madam. I'm not sure you have your best interests at heart," he quipped, knowing it was likely to goad her into pushing him around even more, but that was an equally happy outcome.

“That’s been true of most of my life,” she points out, the nips at his lower lip, teeth grazing skin. They both know what she’s spent most of her life trying to do, what she’s been looking for.

She would never call it a mistake. She still wants to destroy the TVA, but she’d meant what she’d said; the right choice, the better choice was him.

“I must really like you to let you do the driving,” she says, hands moving up his back, one palm on the back of his neck.

"Like, was it? I don't recall that being the word," Loki smirked, holding her against him as he rolled them both to bring himself over her. They would both be impossibly sandy, once this was all over, and he would probably be insufferable in his complaining, but it would be worth it.

He kissed her, lips first, then the point of her chin, the long column of her throat. Every time she allowed this— welcomed it, in fact, he felt absurdly grateful. She'd chosen this, with him, as he'd chosen her, which was a rare gift for people like them.

“Liking someone and loving them are different things,” she answers, but she lets him roll them over, allows herself to press down into the sand. “I think it’s rare to feel both at the same time.”

An admission she does, for him, even if it’s not in so many words. Every press of his mouth pulls a soft sound from her and she hooks one leg over his hip, her foot wrapping around the back of his thigh as her hands slide down his back. Her body arches, pressing toward him, his mouth, his touch, everything.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever liked someone, loved them, and wanted them,” she says as her nails drag lightly up over his shoulders.

"What can I say, I'm a very well-rounded person," he said, the urge to make light of her admission winning out, for the moment. He kissed between her breasts, kneading one in the palm of his hand while he tasted the other.

"I want you," he said, kissing the delicate curve of her ribs. "I like you," he added, dropping lower to dip his tongue into her navel. "And, in case you've forgotten in the last three minutes..." he teased, lifting his eyes to her face as he pressed another kiss just above her waistband. "I love you."

Not so long ago, she would have thought it a weakness, the way something inside her flutters and comes to life with his words. Maybe a part of her is still a little afraid it might be, but it's a quiet part, at least now, and she smiles down at Loki, a genuinely besotted smile.

"Well, who wouldn't?" she asks, sinking her fingers into his hair.

No one would, really, she's never let anyone and she had thought it might feel like giving up. Instead it feels like giving into something, something good, and Sylvie lifts her hips, pushing down the waist of her pants and underwear to help him.

"Only terrible fools," Loki murmured, stripping her of the last of her clothes, his mouth finding the inside of her knee. It seemed unfathomable that he had been given enthusiastic permission to this. She wanted him, as badly as he wanted her.

It had been enough to tear a hole in the timeline, disrupting the very fabric of the universe, but he had no intention of stopping.

They're fools.

Fools to think their acts won't catch up with them eventually, even here, fools to believe they might be able to have this peace, but Sylvie thinks she can live with this sort of foolishness. Not so long ago, she wouldn't have believed it, but now she wants to hold onto it with both hands.

"Please," she says on an exhale, without really knowing what she's asking for. Everything. Him. Whatever he wants to give her.

"Tell me," he murmured against the soft skin along the inside of her thigh. "Tell me what you want of me, you know I'll give it."

He was teasing her, of course, but he also wouldn't have minded a little direction. Never having been very good at taking orders, giving up control to her was surprisingly appealing.

A comment such as that gives her too much power. The sort she might have abused not so long ago, even coming from Loki, but now it only makes a smile flicker at the corners of her mouth as he kisses her inner thigh.

"You," she answers. "Naked, for one. It hardly seems fair I'm the only one covered in sand."

Her breathing has already quickened and she lifts her head to look down at him, her smile growing. "And still you. In any way I can get you. Perhaps put that lovely mouth of yours to work."

Chuckling, Loki sat back on his haunches, working open the waistband of his trousers and shimmying out of them. With a glow of bluish white energy, he cleaned the sand from both of them, conjuring a blanket that was pointedly not unlike the one he'd made in Void.

"What a wonderful suggestion," he said, lifting one of her slim legs over his shoulder and kissing the strong muscle of her calf.

He really couldn't take for grated that they had time for any of this, but in this little oasis they'd claimed for themselves, he was willing to take the risk.

Smirking, he kissed the bone of her ankle, the arch of her foot, before making his way up the long length of her leg once more.

She'd thought it the first time she'd undressed him, and still now, even having seen him more than once without his clothes, it strikes her how beautiful he is. They have control over the way they look, but he hasn't changed anything since they've met, not for her, not for anyone else, and the way his skin glows under the rising sun makes her chest tighten.

The first feeling of the blanket beneath her makes her laugh, but the sound catches in her throat as he kisses her foot, her ankle. Her leg rests over his shoulder and she bites her lower lip as she watches him, another smile curving her lips.

"Stick with me," she murmurs. "I think you'll find I'm full of wonderful suggestions."

"That was the plan," he murmured, working his way higher, the barest tip of his tongue drawing a line from from the inside of her knee to the very top of her thigh.

"What was it you wanted? My lovely mouth?" He teased, his eyes bright with mirth as he kissed the rise of her hip, drawing ever closer to her sex. He breathed across her skin, pressing her knees a bit wider, then traced along the outer folds of her cunt with the barest brush of his tongue, then deeper, his tongue just grazing the tightening bud of her clit.

If this was all she wanted, a lazy morning with his face buried between her legs, he would be perfectly content.

"Your mouth, your fingers, your cock," she says on a hitched breath, a sharp inhale at the feel of his tongue on her skin. "To be honest, when it comes to you, it seems I'm not overly picky."

He's teasing her, the touch of his tongue so light on her clit, and her lips part with another shaking inhale, her hips rising to chase the sensation. She slides one leg around him, her foot pressed to his back between his shoulder blades and it isn't enough. His mouth is rather lovely and he knows how to use it, but she wants to be touching him. Her fingers draw through his hair, gentle at first, then she tugs, wanting him to look at her, wanting to hold his gaze while his tongue presses into her cunt.

Loki, never known for his ability to take orders, looked up obediently when she pointedly tugged his hair. "That's flattering," he murmured, smirking until the very last moment, when his lips parted and he closed his mouth around her, his tongue pressing in deep.

His hand found one of hers, fingers linking together, holding tight as he went about slowly taking her apart.

Some remark occurs to her, sarcastic, teasing, and her lips are parted to say it when his mouth finally closes around her and instead all she manages is a gasped breath that almost sounds like his name. Her fingers tighten through his, something impossibly sweet in the gesture that makes her chest feel suddenly tight, even as pleasure swells inside of her.

She worries for a second she might cry, but then Loki does something particular good with his tongue and the thought it driven from her mind as she gasps and lifts her hips, pressing herself against his mouth.

“Fuck, like that,” she says, holding his hair with one hand. “Like that, Loki-“ Anything else is lost as she comes, clinging to him with her hands and her thighs.

Edited 2022-08-08 18:25 (UTC)

She began to plead, and he focused on doing exactly what she'd asked, lapping softly but incessantly at her clit. When he felt her begin to shudder with her orgasm, he slid to fingers into her, curving them upward while pressing down harder with his tongue. She clenched rhythmically around him, and instead of pulling away, he kept at it, wanting to see how high of a peak he could help her reach.

When she wanted no more of it, she wouldn't be shy about telling him.

It’s so good, good in ways sex has never been for her before, always too hurried out of necessity, always on the brink of some destructive moment to avoid. And maybe, because before this she’s never been in love.

So she lets him stay there between her legs for as long as she can stand it, gasping as pleasure builds all over again. But she’s trembling and sensitive, and she presses her thighs against the sides of his head, almost laughing or maybe sobbing, with how overwhelming it is.