Once upon a time, long, long ago—a demon and an angel's eyes met across a bloody battlefield.
One—a dark winged, sly tongued, red eyed, semi-sadistic hellion fell in love. While the other—a fair haired, radiant as the sun, beautiful in body and in heart, fell in lust.
Right from that mere moment, the emotions where strong…as well as forbidden to each of their own races.
Demons did not love and angels did not lust. It was a laughable and preposterous notion to simply entertain, one that would definitely relinquish them of any respectable title—but yet…
As Thor and Loki found their eyes locked over a vast amount carnage and death, they immediately wanted.
Loki saw the startled hitch of the angel's breath, the way its pink, plump lips parted on a quiet gasp, and how its eyes—the purest and brightest blue he had ever seen in his long existence—widened with shameful wonder.
Thor saw a beast of exotic nature—a beast that had skin as black as tar, with jagged, raised lines that ran across the whole of his body in intricate patterns that Thor followed intimately with his eyes. The demon had a lithe body, a thick, pointed tail, abnormally long limbs, and sleek, sharp claws that were stained with blood.
And so the demon and the angel stood, watching each other for what seemed like eternity. Battle raged on chaotically around them, blades savagely colliding against other blades—as well as flesh, pain filled grunts and moans of the gravely injured and wounded sounded in dozens on the filth covered ground, it all became white noise until nothing but the crackle of burning embers resonated around them.
Only then, did Loki finally blink, as if a mere second had passed by, and after a while, he asked in a coaxing, hushed whisper, "Your name, seraph?" It rolled off Loki's forked tongue like a soft caress and he projected it that way towards the angel.
It carried like the wind over the extensive length of the battlefield, making what little grass remained rustle and writhe, and Loki knew instantly when the angel received his inquiry.
The seraph moaned sharply—startled—presenting his neck as cerulean eyes fluttered dazedly before coming to a close. Loki, with a slight tilt of his head, examined the cherub with greedy eyes.
Angels were such interesting creatures—demanded to purge their souls of all selfish desire and ambition—they were beautiful, stoic, and solitary individuals that in His eyes where expendable—however, not like His precious humans—never them.
"Thor," It came back to him, an intriguing mix of uncertainty and brazen, and Loki hummed acknowledgment deep in his throat. "And yours devil?" The spoken distaste was obviously clear, but Loki could not help but chuckle at the underlining pique and curiosity in his tone.
Loki then found himself wondering if the rumor that all angels were sexless was true. He hoped not. Surely, for such a fetching creature—never having the pleasure or opportunity of being vigorously kiss…teasingly licked…or readily sucked had to be a sin. Suddenly, Loki thought of all the things he could do with his tongue, how he could drive the mind to euphoric madness with one little flick.
Loki grinned arrogantly as he licked crudely over his top and bottom fangs, feeling the slick smoothness of them roam over his tongue.
"Loki, seraph," Thor's eyes shortly flickered to his mouth before hastily looking away, his face twisting into something that appeared highly confused and troubled. Thor was at odds with himself, Loki surmised, divided by righteous duty and inadvisable intrigue by the dark creature that stood before him.
Before Loki's mind could even respond to what his body had prompted, Loki absentmindedly took a step forward, desperately wanting to cast the expression away.
Thor gasped, shocked; the bright halo above his head highlighting his disillusionment…and Loki—foolhardily—took another step.
The grass suddenly rustled wildly along his feet, the tops of the blades tickling his ankles.
"What are you doing devil? Halt!" Thor's voice hissed anxious and panic-stricken, echoing angrily throughout Loki's ears. He neglected the apparent warning, pacing a wide stride. He ached to be close—to touch.
"One day, I'm going to corrupt you—" Loki confessed, his voice a dark, guttural, raw thing of a sound. "Dim that blinding halo," Thor's breath audibly hitched, and a large hand obliviously descended sensuously down his muscular chest, settling at the pit of his stomach.
Thor incredulously shook his head, only trying to deny—or stall—the inevitable. "And seraph, you're going to love every second of it."
…
From the moment the angel and the demon's eyes met across the blood soaked battlefield, three hundred years had passed like nothing more than a lengthy rain.
Remarkably, Loki did not try to seduce or touch the angel during this fragile time. He waited and watched patiently. Being as old as he was, he could wait a millennia for Thor—and if it came down to that, he would—but as Loki observed Thor's resolve fray, he was positive he wouldn't have to.
"Why do you do this to yourself Loki?" Thor asked him as he regarded and inspected a basin of clear blue water with his big toe. "You know I cannot—that I will not. Your efforts will be forever wasted…" Thor sighed, gesturing tiredly with his hand, "We should not even be conversing like this, please Loki, stop this foolishness."
They were near the Mediterranean Sea, summer had come and the air smelled of salt and ripe red grapes ready for the picking.
Positioned high in the middle of a cloudless sky, the sun overhead shined down upon them with a force that was quite irksome. Despite popular belief—among both devils and angels alike—Loki did not appreciate nor care for the heat, he was a creature of shadow and ice. Hell was rumored to be burning—in flames from Lucifer's overwhelming hatred and resentment for Him—but in all actuality it was a cold, lonely, and frigid place.
Loki leaned heavily on the thick bark of a tree, which overlooked the enticing oasis that only men in their dying hour could ever hope to dream of. His figure was incased all in shadow, by the willowy branches and long leaves and a small burst of cool wind from the water steadily drifted over to him.
As Loki looked at the picture painted before him: The lush greens of the brush and trees, the cajoling blues of the sky and the water, and Thor—right in the center—appearing oh so majestic and enchanting with his golden hair fluttering around his shoulders, and his beautifully shaped sun-kissed body serene and lax by the water—Loki had never felt calmer.
Thor stood in the sun, as if he, himself was the sole source of all its blasted light, and Loki had to mildly squint.
"And yet, here we are again," Loki explained leisurely, a smug grin formed on his features as he saw Thor flush a pleasant pink. Loki chuckled, "That's not from the sun is it?" Thor just crossed his arms over his chest and frowned disapprovingly at the water.
"Do you honestly need to ask as to why I torture myself with the thought of possessing you, seraph?" He asked temptingly. The simple thought of taking Thor for himself roused emotions that were both familiar and foreign to Loki's mind, but they were emotions that were exhilarating nonetheless.
Loki rose off the tree, making his way out into the light. His inky skin simmered in the wake the sun's rays, conducting heat all throughout his body. Loki gradually made his way towards Thor, his limbs gracefully moving in a rhythm only he could achieve, and he spotted Thor lightly tense at the approach.
Thor had gotten better over the many decades of hiding emotion that was made to show so plainly on his face. Being acquainted with a devil, one supposed you had to.
"I have come to think you enjoy hearing why I crave and desire you so—" Thor opened his mouth to surely deny his notion, but before he could even utter a word from his delectable mouth, Loki went on, tauntingly, "I think you would enjoy hearing all the, perverse, wicked, and unruly things I have done to you in my head. No being has ever touched you so deeply and intimately as I would…" Loki was ever vigilant as his suggestive thoughts settled and registered in Thor's mind.
Thor gazed up at him with wide eyes; the black pushed back the blue, and his lips parted on a staggering breath. Loki swallowed as his hand hesitantly came up to run his thumb over the curve of Thor's cheek and then, more daringly, his plump bottom lip. Loki felt great pleasure when the angel did not flinch or back away from his touch. "Loki…" Thor whispered, and in return, tentatively encircled his fingers around Loki's wrist, voicing his want, but also his worry.
Loki shuddered and softly groaned at how good Thor's skin felt against his own, even if the pads of his fingers touched something as simple as his wrist.
Loki flat out ignored the wrongness of their feelings—the utter taboo of them—as he, instead, gazed upon the most beautiful creature he had—would ever—see in his life.
"And even though you deny me time and time again—curse me—I know that there will be a day—blessed it will be—that you will come to me and beg. Beg for my touch, for my fingers, for my tongue, for every inch of me…" Loki distracted, faintly trailed off as he put the tip of his thumb's claw in Thor's mouth, dragging the pointed edge lightly enough over the inside of his bottom lip to not draw any blood. Thor's mouth parted on a needy moan as his eyes fluttered to a closed and a shiver ran throughout the whole of his body.
Loki clicked his tongue, "None of that. Look at me."
Thor shyly gazed up through a plethora of golden eye lashes, flicking his tongue out timidly to lick at the point of the claw and Loki's jaw clenched with waning effort of remaining in control and to not act on the most carnal of his instincts.
Loki begrudgingly removed his hand from Thor's mouth and Thor frowned slightly, his blue eyes glimmering in question, as he squeezed Loki's wrist more firmly.
"Only then when you finally beg will I have you, seraph. Only then will I fuck you raw, until not even my name can sound out of your pretty lips…only then." Loki whispered as his lips hovered closely over Thor's, their breath intermingled and warmed each other lips. Thor, as always looked torn, it was a look that Loki half associated with the cherub.
It was easier for Thor to deny what he felt, to blame it on something or someone other than himself, but Loki was determined for Thor to admit that he wanted this—that he wanted him—in every shameful, improper way imaginable.
So it was a shame when Thor, after a pregnant pause said, "You will be waiting a very long time then." Loki swore he almost seemed solemn at the thought.