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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"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.

When it seemed to pass the point of pleasure, Loki eased off, slowing the steady press of his long fingers and giving her one last gentle swipe with his tongue. Laughing breathlessly against the intimate crease of her thigh, he grinned against her skin and murmured, "Had enough, then?"

He kissed her trembling belly, deciding not to bother cleaning his face for the moment. There was something refreshingly new about making a mess of one another.

“No,” she answers, though her eyes are closed, her face tilted up toward the sun as it climbs over over the horizon, sweat drying at her hairline. The cut on her temple stings, but like everything else, it only serves to add to this feeling of being alive. Loki’s mouth, his chin, they’re wet against her skin, and she lifts her head and opens her eyes to look down her body at him.

“No, I think there’s still so much more we can do,” she tells him, fingers brushing his cheek, then tucking beneath his chin to gently tug. “Come here.”

"Good," he murmured, grinning slyly as he crawled up her body, pausing to kiss the curve of her ribs and the sharp rise of her collar bone.

"Right here?" He murmured, kissing her jaw. Hooking a hand behind her knee, he gathered her leg up around his hip, settling in the cradle of her thighs. His cock pressed against her, the length of it sliding along the slick folds of her cunt. It still shocked him, that she might want him there. Foolish though he may have been, he wasn't so stupid to take that for granted.

“Right here,” she agrees, moving her leg with him, hooking her foot over the wonderful curve of his ass. Her hands lift, fingers tangling in his hair, dark curls slipping between her knuckles as he settles between her legs. He’s hard, heavy against her, and she lets her legs fall open a little further, an invitation.

“Well,” she amends, one hand reaching between their bodies, fingers curling around his cock to guide him against her cunt, pressing the head of him inside her. “Maybe right here.”

"Yes, thank you. Much more specific," he said, his tone playfully polite. With a heavy exhale, he pressed into her, their hips pressed flush and his cock sheathed to the hilt.

"This isn't strenuous at all," he laughed breathlessly, grinning down at her, their noses nearly brushing. Keeping himself seated deep inside, Loki rocked his hips, the base of his cock grinding against her. He kissed her, almost sweetly, lips pressed to the corner of her mouth, but it took only a slight shift to cover her lips with his own and nudge his way deeper.

When he presses inside of her, Sylvie inhales sharply, lips parted at the feeling of being filled in such a way, her body stretched tight around him in a way that sends a shiver down her spine, heat trickling through her. She could stay like this, she thinks, with him inside her.

But then he moves, his hips rolling, and her breath hitches again as she grins back at him.

"I think if it isn't at least a little strenuous, we may be doing it wrong," she teases before he kisses her and she slips both arms around him again, clutching at his shoulders as her mouth opens for him.

"I don't think we are," Loki observed, kissing her with methodical attention as he began to move within her.

They were out in the open, exposed to the prying eyes of anyone else who might have come up this way, but still, he took his time. He had been called a snake more times than he could count, but admittedly, there was something sinuous, serpentine in the way he moved. That wasn't, of course, what the moniker was referencing, but he was always happy to misunderstand something if it benefited him.

"In fact, I think we're rather good at this," he teased her, thrusting in a little harder, a little deeper. Beneath him, she was flushed a splotchy red, sweat and a smattering of sand streaked across her chest, her hair a mess and her eyes dark, and he couldn't recall ever seeing her more beautiful.

“I’ve no doubt of it,” she answers, moving with him, hips rising to meet his thrusts. His skin is damp with sweat, a curl of dark hair clinging to his pale cheek and she’s overcome again by her feelings for him. Love, it turns out, feels a lot like any other strong emotion, threatening to swallow her whole, only this time she doesn’t feel like she’ll be lost to it.

This time she thinks it might even be good for her.

Her other leg rises, bending at the knee, hooking over his hip to change the angle slightly. Sylvie shifts, burying her face against the curve of Loki’s shoulder, breathing hard against his skin. Her teeth scrape against him and she laughs again, softly, before kissing the pink skin she’s left behind.

His forehead dropping to rest against hers, Loki rocked against her, panting, letting it build slowly for both of them.

Eventually, he lifted his upper body away from her, propping himself up on one hand, changing the angle and also wanting a look at her. While some might assume that gods would be flawless, there was a dusting of freckles on her shoulders, a few between her breasts, though they could hardly be called flaws at all.

He bent one of his knees, giving himself leverage to go deeper, and reached between them to circle at the swollen nub of her clit with his thumb.

Being this close, Sylvie can see every expression that flickers across Loki's face and she watches them all, lips parted slightly, awed by seeing him in such a way. It feels silly, dangerous, romantic, but it's different this time.

Her breath catches on a moan when he shifts, when his cock is suddenly deeper, when his thumb touches her clit.

She finds she can't stop looking at him. The sun is over the horizon by now, his skin almost golden with it, and then there's a particular thrust, something he does with his hips, she doesn't know what it is, just that the electric burst of heat makes her gasp his name, clutching at his arm. "Fuck," she breathes, trembling again, moments from another orgasm cresting.

He watched closely, cataloging every reaction, every uptick of her breath or twitch of muscle. He considered toying with her a bit, making her wait, because she was beautiful like this but she was also beautiful when she was furious with him. Instead, when she shuddered against him, gasping, he smirked faintly and repeated that particular swivel of his hips, and again, pressing just a bit more firmly with the pad of his thumb.

"I could never tire of seeing you like this."

Sylvie’s life has never given her the time or space to worry much about what people thought of her. She’s never much cared, but she cares now, with him.

No clever response comes, she can’t think clearly enough, she only manages to curl her hand over Loki’s arm and pulls herself up to kiss him. “Good,” she breathes against his mouth just before she come, the heat within building until her body clenches tight around his cock, still clinging to him.

Whatever semblance of control he might have been clinging to vanished almost instantly. Her body clenched around him, her mouth warm and insistent against his own, and he was powerless to her. Then again, he'd grown quite accustomed to that feeling.

He said her name, though it was almost completely swallowed by a helpless groan, by their mouths still tasting one another. It was only a few more moments before he came, as well, gathering her close and breaking from the kiss to pant desperately against her jaw. And heaven help him, it was every ridiculous cliche he'd ever sneered at, when it came to passion and to love.