A/N: There is seriously no plot, unless you squint. 10 points if you find it. And this is explicit without the details.
I don't know where this came from, by the way. No spoilers & un-beta'd.
1
Loki straddles Steve's lap, rocking back and forward. Steve's eyes are covered in a thin, dark cloth, and he bites his lip when Loki hums obscenities into his ear. Loki is careful not to press his groin against Steve's. He wants Steve to get hard without the contact, to eventually burst through the seam of his underwear without the slightest touch to his erection.
"Loki," Steve murmurs, pulling against his restraints. "This isn't fair."
Loki chuckles softly, tonguing Steve's ear, biting down on his lobe. "All is fair in love and war. Or so I read in one of your books."
Steve grumbles, leaning his head away from Loki's tongue. "But I can't make you feel good."
Sighing, Loki carefully removes the makeshift blindfold. "Better, darling?"
It's certainly not what Steve wants, but it's what Loki's allowed him to have.
2
Steve is not aggressive - in any way. Sometimes Loki forgets this is the case when Captain America has taken down armies of men.
Loki pushes against Steve's length, urging him deeper, to push harder, to flirt with the line between pleasure and pain. Steve eases away each time he feels Loki tighten around him or thinks he's pushed too far. Steve's having none of it.
Loki is forced to draw him in again, to restart the rhythm, elbows shaking on the bed from the strain of holding not only his weight up but Steve's as well. Steve mouths at one of Loki's shoulders, and it's breathtaking how these added touches make Loki throb with desire. He grinds against Steve, hips moving in sensual circles, trying to plead with Steve for more.
Steve pulls away, kneeling behind Loki, thrusting in just as slowly as before. Loki is going to die. He's going to die with a cock inside him that refuses to hit his prostate. And Loki can't decide whether dying in this position is worse or knowing that Steve will most likely stop having sex altogether if it happens is worse.
"Steve." Loki is not going to let either happen. "Steve, please. Do not worry about harming me."
Steve's thrusts become shallow, sliding in even less far now. "But Loki—"
"Then strike me," Loki cuts in, pushing back onto Steve's length.
"You want me to hit you?" Steve's fingers tighten on Loki's hips; he's becoming anxious again.
"I don't mean hit me. I want you to punish me, redden my skin." Loki shows what he means by rolling his hips, propping his ass up, arms hidden under his body.
"You want me to slap you?" Steve's tone is flat.
Steve is shutting down, withdrawing, trying to escape the world he doesn't know. His hips have stopped moving forward, and soon he won't be aroused anymore. This is not what Loki intends to happen.
Loki reaches around, letting his palm fall hard against the skin of his ass. The sound is sharp, and it burns wonderfully, but Loki knows it would be so much better if it were Steve's hand. But what is the effect on Steve? Will he give in or will he run away?
Loki's hand comes down, harder, most definitely leaving red marks behind. If he isn't mistaken, Steve's begun to slide into Loki again. Trying to encourage Steve, Loki moans, spreading his legs wider. And he slaps again.
Steve gasps, hips stuttering forward, deep. Loki cries out, panting Steve's name. His hand finds Steve's fingers digging into his waist, and he drags them to his ass.
"Steve," Loki pleads, turning to give Steve a plaintive smile. "Can you?"
The first slap is so startling, so unexpected, that Loki's head tips forward, and he breathes heavy against their bed sheets. Steve pets the reddening skin, worried he's hit too hard, that he's done it wrong. Always worrying, Loki thinks, even when he does things impeccably well.
Loki catches his breath. "Again," he demands, twisting his hands in the sheets.
Steve drives forward, Loki's whole body shifting with the movement, and Steve's palm drops, cutting like a whip. Loki mewls, tearing through the sheets, muttering praises and Yes more, and anything else he can say to convince Steve to continue.
It seems that is enough.
Loki is arching into the deep thrusts – Steve's aim is unbeatable – and the skin of his behind is buzzing, vibrating with each touch of Steve's palm, no matter how soft or hard. And Steve growls when Loki shoves his ass closer, down the length, while clawing at their bed.
"Close," Steve whispers quietly, embarrassed. He can't admit it – that he likes to hurt his lover, that it makes him hard, that his lover's skin is going to be wrecked in a few hours, and they both hope that it never fades – because he thinks it will make him a bad person.
"Harder!" Loki cries out, twisting below Steve with each painful thrust. "I am not a mortal, Steve."
Steve nods, driving in like an animal, hitting his mark on each try. And Loki comes undone, spilling all over their torn sheets, shivering and repeating Steve's name to keep him grounded. The clench, the handprints across Loki's pale ass, it's all too much for Steve and he falls over the edge and into madness, letting the darkness inside him have its moment at the surface of his skin.
When Loki stops shaking, Steve leans over and kisses his narrow shoulders, still worrying, but thankfully less. It almost makes Loki feel guilty for bringing Steve down to his level.
Nuzzling into Loki's hair, Steve says 'I love you' for the first time, and Loki's guilt melts away.
3
Loki sits at the end of the bed, his back to Steve. He rests his hand on Steve's leg, curling and uncurling his fingers in the thin hair of Steve's calves. It's easy for Steve to sleep through this; it isn't the first time he's been caressed in his sleep. (And it certainly won't be the last, considering how much Loki enjoys it.)
Loki moves back on the bed, fingers never leaving Steve's skin, following the defined muscles underneath the subtle beauty of a mortal man. Steve shifts in his sleep, unconsciously, when Loki's hand brushes against the side of his length. Loki crawls closer to Steve, pressing his back to the headboard, watching, waiting for him to sink back into slumber. Steve's face is turned away, but Loki hears his shallow breaths all the same.
Carefully, Loki traces the edges of Steve's length. He strokes along it, framing it with his long digits. Each touch is gentle, teasing; meant to stir but not awaken Steve. It begins to harden in Loki's grasp, and a whimper slips between Loki's parted lips. Rare are the times when Steve allows himself to be this vulnerable – he hardly ever sleeps in the nude either.
Steve's chest sinks in, a soft moan following the ragged breath. Loki watches with delight, with hunger for more of those sweet sounds. He squeezes, tugging from base to tip, and Steve gasps in his sleep, his eyes squeezing shut. Loki admires the impressive arousal, dragging his thumb across the head of it.
"Loki…"
Fingers wrap around his own, and Loki's chest aches, burns, just knowing that Steve has given in completely.
Loki lies next to Steve, kissing him between quiet pants, stroking Steve with determination, purpose, and an indescribable feeling in his chest. He pulls away when Steve cups his head, wanting a taste of something else. As soon as his mouth, wet from morning kisses, wraps around Steve's length, Steve tries to push Loki away.
It's always like this; Steve not wanting to soil Loki's lips, not wanting him to be hurt by Steve's uncontrollable desire to plunge into the open mouth, perpetually struggling, not able to let go and just feel.
But Loki wants. And Steve wants, but doesn't know how to take.
Slamming Steve's protesting hands down on the bed, Loki continues. His tongue laps at the head, drawing circles and rough, straight lines down the shaft. The smell – the heady smell that Loki is never able to breathe in – is enough for Loki to be forever pleased by this. Steve is close, and Loki means to savour every drop of him.
Lips snug around the tip, Loki sucks, tongue curling and dabbing into the slit to collect all of Steve that he was never allowed to have.
"Loki, please, no—"
There's not much Steve can do when Loki sets his mind to something.
Loki's hand reaches up, pressing against Steve's swollen, red lips. His tongue circles the head of Steve's length, pushing against the hard flesh with each lick, while his fingers rub at Steve's full mouth. He smiles at Steve, and Steve looks at him drowsily, but curious.
Loki's ready to say it now. "I love you, so let me have all of you."
Steve bucks into Loki's mouth, spilling between his beloved's lips. He curses himself for not stopping this, curses Loki for forcing this out of him; curses everything because – deep down, somewhere beyond his soul, somewhere primal and old – he wanted this all along.
Loki isn't disgusted when he pulls away, he's still smiling. And Steve can maybe – once in a while – give Loki what he wants to take, if this is how it always ends.