A/N: Hello, everyone! It's almost 3am and I've got a little plot bunny. That's what I get for listening to music late at night, haha. This is very loosely inspired by the song "The Preyingmantis" by Porcelain and the Tramps. I say very loosely because I like to write somewhat happier things and the song just got me in a kind of a mood.
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor or Loki, because if I did, things would go a bit differently. And by differently I mean that there would be constant sex, all the time. And by constant sex, I mean…well, you get my point. (I realize I don't put these in front of my stories…maybe I should remedy that…)
Anywho, enjoy!
OoooooooooooooooooooO
Only in the dead of night did he come, covered in blood that wasn't his and wearing a look on his face and nothing else. That look that made Loki's knees shake and heart pound in his chest, beating a rhythm that he knows intimately and will deny vehemently if asked. Not that they speak. Not during this. Thor crosses the room and Loki licks his lips, legs spreading open on their own in a dance that Loki has memorized by now. When the Thunder God pushes him to the bed, Loki doesn't resist, and Thor peels layers and layers of fabric until Loki is laid bare, slightly shivering under the powerful, appreciative gaze that Thor gives him. That look that sizes him up, looks past all the lies and deceit and into the core of Loki's being. If Thor's gaze softens slightly, neither of them mention it. This is about…what is it about? Loki doesn't know. He has always been the thinker, the sharper one of the two. Now he can only stare dumbly as Thor takes him in his hand, and the dance begins.
Slowly, quickly, it doesn't matter. Time is suspended as they tangle and twine and twist together, so much so that it's hard to know where one begins and the other ends. Loki pretends that Thor isn't shaking, and Thor pretends that Loki isn't crying. The frozen tears slide down Loki's face, leaving a small streak of blue that vanishes in the blink of an eye. Loki doesn't know why he cries when they do this. Or maybe he does, and he really doesn't want to admit that there's something deeper. Something more than just tangled limbs and lust, something that scares the Trickster God. He lies in the center of a web of tangled lies and sugary deceit, frozen in fear and time. His silver tongue turns to lead as Loki struggles to find words. They die on his lips and become moans and yes and oh there. Loki feels his skin tingle from the small lightning bolts that Thor unconsciously creates when they…make love? Fuck? There seems to be no word for whatever it is they do, because they are both bloody and bruised, and yet Loki is sure that Thor is in love with him and Loki might-well-maybe-slightly be, too.
When Thor rolls off of Loki and they are both catching their breaths, Thor will stroke Loki's cheek so delicately as if it were made of glass. Piercing green eyes will look into deep and caring blue, and Loki can pretend for a moment that all is right. Thor's light kisses are apologies wrapped in velvet, and Loki rolls his eyes while pretending that he does not have a small smile on his face, not at all. Thor will laugh his belly laugh, sated and cheerful. Loki secretly likes how it is only himself that can put a smile on the Thunder God's face, that only Loki can make Thor forget about whatever bloody battle that was won-or lost.
"Thor, we need to talk about this," Loki says, as he does every night. And just like every night, Thor gives him a small smile.
"Tomorrow," he will say, somehow always managing to sound sincere. And some nights Loki believes him, falling asleep tangled up in Thor as the Thunder God strokes his hair and hums a faint battle tune.
And then Loki wakes up, bed empty and sheets cold, and wonders when both of them will be brave enough to stay.