"Armour. Off," I tell him in response to his quizzical glance.
"Oh. Yes." His rich voice is rough with exhaustion, and he doesn't even bother to stand up, just unbuckling and writhing out of the formal pieces where he lies, then shoving them off to hit the floor with dull clanks. I am beyond grateful that my own garb has no such edges or heavy elements. Loki seems to want me out of it, though, for he rolls me to my side and fumbles with the closures at my back. The feel of his fingers is cool against my heated skin, and I allow a sigh of contentment to escape my lips.
"Have I told you how utterly lovely you look in this gown?" he asks, mouth against the nape of my neck. "Like the most perfect vision of a night sky."
"Is that why you were so jealous of anyone who looked at me?" I tease.
His hands still momentarily, and I know he's offended. "I was not so."
I chuckle. "As you say, Silver-tongue." The last tie comes loose, and I find the energy to stand up long enough to tug the rustling fabric over my hips. Mostly unclothed, I drop back onto the bed, burying my face in the loose front of Loki's shirt. "I have known for long and long how attractive you are when at a formal occasion. Almost as attractive as when you are unclothed."
"Is that a hint?" he asks; by his tone I know I am forgiven.
"Not if you don't want one," I laugh, looking up into his eyes. They are heavy-lidded, bare glints of green showing through his dark lashes.
"Always," he whispers, before laying his mouth to mine. "Always and always." I slip my hands up under his shirt, drawing slow fingertips down his spine. There's tension in his shoulders, making his back a map of stark muscles. He parts my lips with his tongue, softly stroking. The fingers of one hand wind into my curls, wildly dishevelled, and pin my head in place for the other to quest the lines of my face like a blind man. When he releases me from this kiss I mouth along the faint prickle of stubble showing along his jawline, licking at the point of his jaw.
"Never leave me, Synne," he sighs, tipping his head back to my ministrations. I don't bother to answer, intent on sliding down to kiss his chest and suck at his nipples. Gooseflesh pebbles his skin. I smile and trace one faint scar mark with the tip of my tongue, listening for the low sound of his moan. "Please," he begs softly, half coherent.
"Please?" I do like it when Loki pleads. I pursue my quest, nosing the edges of his ribs, protruding slightly against his silk and velvet skin. I slip my fingernails along each rib, tormenting with pleasure and leaving faint red lines against the paleness. Overtaken by whimsy (or possibly too much mead) I etch my sigil in runes along his sternum in those pale lines, laying claim to his body, if nothing else. I shape the word 'love' across his abdomen with flicks of my tongue, like a cat tasting milk.
Loki's hands, long and elegant, clutch hard at my shoulders now, exerting the faintest pressure downward. I let my laughter tremble against his skin while I obey. I'm not too tired to untangle the drawstring of his breeches, nor to take into my mouth what I find there. He is already aroused, as I meant him to be, and fills my mouth with his length.
This is not a thing taught, as such, to the daughters of the Vanir, but we two have sought out the learning of it as we seek out the learning of new magics, and after all our time together I know what pleases him most. As I like him to beg, he likes me to draw him to beg, to dance nearer and nearer that edge of desire. So I tease him, with cheeks and throat, lips and tongue.
Loki's gripping my shoulders painfully hard now, and I expect to find bruises when we wake up later. A swift flex of his fingers, our agreed-on signal, and I release him. He doesn't even bother to finish disrobing, just draws me up his body, draws me into a deep, hard kiss, and sheathes himself in me. We both of us gasp at the shock of it, clinging to each other like drowning.
For all his haste a moment ago, Loki takes his time now, moving smooth and slow and easy within me, purring in my ear until I am crying out with the bliss of it. Our fingers twine together, gripping hard, and we can't kiss for needing to breathe. I can sense the shudder overtaking him just before he climaxes. Freeing one hand, he smooths it along the side of my face, his eyes soft and his smile gentle. Cat-like, he strokes and pets me to completion, catching my sighs in his mouth and trading me kisses for them.
"I have you and I will keep you," he whispers in my ear, pulling the furs around us closer and tucking us in against the winter's chill.
I laugh sleepily. "You're so possessive, my love." His only response is to wind me the more tightly in his arms.