Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-06-20 19:30:00 |
|
|||
Loki takes up Fandral’s offer of ‘protection.’ But we all know what these two mean when they talk ‘swords.’ They're Asgardians, after all. Cue a scandalous interlude with lots of witty banter and confused emotional anguish. But they don’t know who they are. So that’s obviously not going to be a problem … yet.WARNINGS NSFW. Look, there’s smut. Is it explicitly descriptive smut? No. But the ‘c’ word is used. Not that ‘c’ word. The other one. Of the rooster variety. Regardless, your boss won’t want you reading it at the office. But there is some A+ witty dialogue! And lots of angsty inner monologue. Also Loki gets the last word. Wink!
Now he was standing behind his door with the two daggers he found clasped beneath his coat when he woke up that morning. They were sharp. He knew because he tested them out on his roommate’s bedsheets after he’d left that morning. Slice! He barely had to grace the sharp end of the blade over the fabric before it tore. Easier than paper. So one could only imagine what they could do to flesh.
The thought enticed him a little.
But it did give him a moment’s pause. Naturally. What sort of man slept with two daggers hidden beneath his garments? This was a mystery that Loki felt particularly motivated to solve. He’d played the part of the histrionic, panicked, fearmonger on the net board because — why not? In a place like this, with no knowledge of who one was, it seemed wise to play a particular part. This was a performance of discovery. And Loki chose the role he felt would lead to the least amount of suspicion. Why? Because he suspected he was someone important.
He suspected he was a spy. And the first rule of clandestine operations — which he knew but didn’t know how he knew and, of course, only cemented in his mind the fact that this was exactly what he thought he was — to never let the targets know who you are. So Loki pretended to be someone he was almost certainly not.
A scared, frightened, confused man.
Although, if he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely certain that he was a man either. He’d had an incident in the bathroom where he blinked and for a moment thought he’d caught the glimpse of a woman in the mirror. But some people claimed to be hearing voices. So why shouldn’t he believe in the possibility that he was some kind of shapeshifter? Besides, wouldn’t that also be evidence of his secret agent status?
Footsteps in the hall. Loki stood at the ready, partially crouched behind the door, waiting for this mysterious blond to show up. He’d removed the ridiculous leather coat with all of its confusing accoutrements and replaced them with an official Derleth campus hoodie he’d found shoved in the back of his closet. The leather pants he kept on because he liked the way they fit around his ass. But the hoodie offered better ease of movement. Which he might need if this man turned out to be the killer, trying to schmooze his next victim.
The dark haired man had told him which room to meet him in and upon arrival, he gave the door a gentle knock. He didn’t just want to barge in on anything he may have been doing. Fandral (though he didn’t know that was his name) was dressed in the only other clothing he could find in his half of the room.
Black dress slacks and a white button down shirt. There’d been a suit jacket with it, but he’d opted to leave it behind for now.
He’d taken the sheath belt from his original garments and put it on over his current outerwear so that he could still carry the sword as needed, so it was currently sheathed for safety, though his hand rested on the hilt in a very normal way.
“Hello, are you in there?” he asked quietly through the door, giving it another gentle knock.
He reached out for the handle and gently opened it, careful to keep himself out of view from the man on the other side of the door.
The room was a bit awkward in its arrangement. There was a privacy screen that went directly down the center of the room, completely blocking the view of the beds from each side. In one corner was a Planet Vegas Dancing Cat slot machine that occasionally turned itself on and sang out a high-pitched tune of Meow Meow Meow! followed by the sound of jingling coins. On the wall was a poster of a very animated drawing of Loki and his roommate, Sam, with the phrase ‘bestie vibes only’ scrawled on top. Loki didn’t know if he trusted that poster to be true, but his roommate, the potential drag queen artist, didn’t appear to be much for deception. So perhaps they were good friends. Although Loki was fairly certain the man was listed in his phone as ‘Enemy #7’ so the jury was still out on that.
He crouched down in a half squat, waiting for the man to enter. Once the blond was inside, Loki kicked the door shut and leapt at him, daggers posed to the stranger’s neck. He was close. Killing distance. Nearly chest to chest. But he was careful not to let the blades nick the man’s skin. Not yet anyway.
Apparently Sir Knight of the Many Accomplished Acts of Swordplay wasn’t the only one who was adept with a blade.
Loki blinked, giving the stranger a quick but furtive once over. “I thought you said you had armor. How do you plan on protecting me with a button-up? By standing behind me in a boardroom?”
But Loki didn’t hide the fact that he found the man’s physique, which was much easier to imagine in the shirt and slacks, more than … satisfactory.
He cautiously made his way into the room, keeping his eyes and ears tuned in to anything out of the ordinary, which happened in a flurry. He’d barely had a chance to unsheath his rapier and hold it across his chest, as a sort of barrier between him and the other man, though he found himself pinned in a sense with daggers at his throat.
Fandral made no move, simply raised an eyebrow at the other man, meeting his darker gaze. “I do have armor, however it’s damaged and I’m… not entirely sure how to really get back into it now.” He hadn’t tried once he’d managed to get it off.
His shoulders lifted and dropped in a somewhat casual shrug, eyes still on his face as he watched Loki give him another glance. That made him smirk.
“Perhaps you do not need my protection as much as you thought,” he said after a moment, using a free hand to gesture toward the daggers. “You seem quite adept yourself.”
Loki would have to leave a mark in another way.
He didn’t have a sheath in this haphazard attire, so he set the two blades on the nightstand. Was that risky? Perhaps. But Loki had a feeling about this fellow. He didn’t think he was working with that crazy woman who’d been found laughing over one of the bodies with the bloody weapon in her hand. On the contrary, Loki thought this man was almost too altruistic in his motives. He really did want to help people, it seemed.
Unlike Loki who only wanted to help himself. He was quickly beginning to think he wasn’t the hero in this amnesia murder mystery.
“Two sets of blades are better than one,” he said, flipping his long hair back over his shoulder and out of the way of his face. Now that he had some more distance he gave the stranger an even more intrusive appraisal. It wouldn’t take much to recognize that Loki was the kind of person who judged on initial impressions. After a long and silent thirty seconds, he raised a curious brow. “I feel like I know you.”
But this man wasn’t in his secret files. Which made him an extra special enigma.
He waved a dismissive hand as though his last comment didn’t matter. “But I digress, I thought your protection services were twofold. Or is that off the table now that you know I can handle a weapon.”
No. This was just merely a tactic to give him a chance to determine if he was going to trust him or not. The rapier blade stayed where it was until he moved, setting the daggers down; so the blade went back into its sheath.
“You’re quite right about that, two sets of blades being better than one. It never hurts to have numbers on our side and I’ll thank you for not slicing my throat open just then. It’s much appreciated.” He chuckled softly and let his fingers work to unbuckle the belt from around his hips, re-clasping it and carefully draping it over the back of whatever was nearest. Then he took a moment, turning his attention back to the dark haired man in front of him and let his own eyes look him over. “Hm. There is something terribly familiar about you, but I can’t quite put my finger on what, exactly.”
He supposed just then it didn’t really matter and Fandral grinned, chuckling again softly for a brief moment. “Oh no, that is absolutely still on the table if you wish it to be,” he remarked, his eyes lingering on the leather pants he wore before looking back up to meet his gaze. Then he took a few steps forward to close more of the distance between them, his hands sliding easily into the pockets of the slacks he wore. “Do you? Wish it to be, I mean.”
No, he didn’t think it would. For some reason he felt like he had no intimate relations here. No blood relatives. Probably not even any friends. (There weren’t any listed in his phone, after all.) A meaningless tryst with a fit, well-mannered stranger wasn’t going to be a problem for him once he knew who he was. Assuming they were even capable of retrieving their memories. Perhaps they’d be like this forever.
Or maybe the killer would slaughter them in the morning.
So, what did it matter?
“You were supposed to say my liege.” Loki smirked and purposefully brushed past him to open the door long enough to hang one of his roommate’s socks over the knob. That should have been enough of a warning not to be bothered, right? Then he closed the door with a gentle click and made his way back to the familiar stranger.
Fingers flicked off a piece of fluff from Fandral’s shoulder. “Do you care what I call you or should I just shout out a different name every time you please me?”
But it didn’t particularly matter just then. He followed as the other man moved back over to the door, putting up the little warning to not enter, and smiled. “My apologies, my liege,” he teased a bit, even taking his hands out of his pockets to give a proper half-bow to him. He stood back to his full height with a laugh and then shook his head. “I have yet to figure out a name for myself, though you called me Lancelot. Not sure that name suits me but we can give it a go.”
Truly, he wasn’t sure what sort of name would suit him at all, but something would need to stick sooner or later.
Fandral reached up between them then and let his fingers curl into the fabric of the hoodie he was wearing, giving it a bit of a tug just to pull him closer, grinning as he leaned in. He was so close, his lips nearly brushing over the other man’s, teasing. Then after a few seconds he closed that space and gave him an eager, hungry kiss, almost desperate to see what he tasted like.
The smirk was replaced with a smile, but a smug one. Loki didn’t have one of those faces that handled honest emotion well. But quips, witticisms, and sardonic banter was something he apparently enjoyed. Never one to hide his own amusement though. He liked this knight. He amused him. And if he was as good with his bedside sword as he claimed to be with his real one, then Loki would be very impressed.
Not that he imagined he’d say as much. He didn’t strike himself as the kind of man who gave out compliments on the whim. But he’d made sure this fellow knew he was pleased.
“Well, in that case I suppose I’m either Arthur or Guinevere.” Loki pursed his lips together in a pseudo-pout. “But why not be both and get the crown and the scandalous affair?”
But on top of being judgmental and narcissistic, he was apparently also a tease. Because he waited for dear sweet Lancelot to make the first move.
Goodness. He was certainly a high maintenance sort.
Loki allowed himself to be pulled in closer, gaze set unblinking on the other man, as though daring him not to indulge in his instincts. And when Fandral pressed his lips against his there was a flickering moment where Loki was — shocked? confused? uncertain? — and it took him a second to shake off the indescribable feeling and return the kiss. And when he did, Loki wasn’t coy. Anything but. With every ounce of himself he was demanding. As any would-be King ought to be.
But he did pull away first because he wanted some measure of control in this little game.
Hoodie was thrown off and dropped to the floor. Boots kicked off. Fingers undid the buttons of his too-tight leather slacks. Then he hooked Fandral by the waistband of his dress pants and tugged him toward the bed. “I’m not going to ask whether you want top or bottom because I assume we’re going to do this twice. But you can surprise me with what we do first.”
Loki shoved him on the bed.
Fandral’s eyes took in the sight of his bare torso, how lean it was, yet muscular. Somehow he hadn’t quite been expecting that, so it was a pleasant surprise.
He managed to slip off his own shoes before he was being led toward the bed that he wasn’t actually sure would fit the two of them. They’d make it work, somehow. “I think that’s a fair assumption to make,” he quipped back before finding himself on the mattress.
His hands reached forward and grabbed at the waistband of the leather pants Loki was wearing, pulling him closer and onto the bed with him. Keeping one hand there, the other reached to curl at the back of his neck and pull him down, leaning up to meet him for another heated kiss. The hand at his pants pushed at the leather fabric, inching it down over his hips.
Mainly he just needed them far enough down so that his hand could slip past the front of the fabric, seeking out Loki’s cock (which was quite easy), palming it before wrapping his fingers around it to pull it out and begin to stroke.
There were some people in Derleth who were good. There were others — this murderer, for example — who were bad. And then there was the long-haired man in room 129. A man who was certain he was something else. Neither good nor bad.
Whatever that was.
His heart beat hard in his chest when Fandral pulled at his slacks. Loki lifted himself high enough for the waist to be tugged down below his buttocks, uncomfortably pinching his thighs, but allowing Fandral the access he clearly desired.
“Well, you don’t waste any time,” Loki said, a small gasp falling from his lips after the first stroke. His face flushed, distracted. Then he leaned forward and caught the man’s mouth with his own; forceful and a little desperate, actually. Like someone fearful that it would be over too quickly. Like he might blink and miss it.
The mustache tickled his nose and he pulled away. Then he deftly maneuvered out of his slacks, which at this point weren’t worth the irritation. Careful, of course, to do so without interrupting Fandral’s — groan — strokes. And then Loki threw them across the room. Smack! into the partition.
But it wasn’t enough. And as much as his eyes wanted it to be slow, his body wanted the opposite. “Let’s take off the rest of these ridiculous clothes of yours and see what kind of sword we’re working with, shall we?”
Loki snapped his fingers and — voila! — they were both equally in the nude. Fandral’s slacks magically draped over the dresser. Loki grinned. He was proud of himself. “I learned that this morning.”
He glanced downward, both brows raised. “A longsword, I see. How very medieval of you.”
It was short lived though and before he knew it, the other man was fully nude and those form fitting leather pants had been tossed across the room. Fandral’s eyes wandered for a moment, quite pleased with the view, his tongue coming out to wet his lips quickly.
“Hm?” That was about the only response he was able to make before there’d been a snap and his clothes were gone, neatly folded near the bed. “Well, then.” An impressed look crossed his own features and his strokes halted momentarily as he looked down at himself, as if to hardly believe that happened. Except it did and now he was very naked and oh, he quite liked the way Loki’s eyes admired him.
The comment made him laugh though, a hearty one and he smiled. “I did warn you. Do you feel faint? Should I fetch your smelling salts?” he asked, teasing.
He shook his head in minuscule disbelief. “I didn’t think I’d have any competition around here, but I see I may have to rethink my future strategies.”
Loki drew a finger along the lines of musculature in Fandral’s torso. From the collar bone, down the sternum, along the sculpted pectorals, and further towards that impressive piece of genetic craftsmanship. His lips curled in a half-quirked smile at the smelling salts quip. A man with a body carved by the gods combined with wit and repartee? Loki really hoped they weren’t vicious and hostile enemies in their normal lives. Then again, maybe he did. That kind of relationship interested him. It sounded delectably complicated.
Fandral stopped his stroking, so Loki took over himself. He wrapped one hand around the base of Fandral’s cock and slowly squeezed upward, wrist twisting at the end. Languid up-and-down repetitions that gradually increased in grip and motion. And when he bent down for another kiss it was with less frantic determination and more controlled intensity. His tongue slipped into his mouth, matching the stroking gestures of his hand.
And then Loki bit him on the lower lip. Because Loki was nothing if not a little chaotic.
And he was also a bit of a chatterbox.
“You’re right,” he whispered against Fandral’s lips. “I don’t want to drag it out. Not this time.”
It was an instinctive sort of move -- though all of this was instinctive, really -- and sweet.
When Loki’s hand moved around his cock, he let out a groan of his own and felt his eyes drift shut for a moment in pleasure. It was only momentary, though, and he opened them again enough to look at him and then his hand, before they were kissing once more.
This kiss was different though, less intense and he groaned softly against it, that same hand that had brushed his hair back cradling his face along his strong jawline as he kissed him back. It was deep and slow and his tongue rolled over his, tasting him fully, pleasantly. At least until the bite to his lip, which he responded to with a quiet hiss and a nip of his own.
“Good. Neither do I,” he responded with a smile before kissing him again, his hips lifting into his touch, feeling that it wouldn’t take long for him to grow fully aroused with how this was going so far.
He felt like he could breathe.
And this rendezvous, regardless of whether it meant anything to whoever they were when they had their memories, was like a gust of fresh air. It freed him from whatever burden he couldn’t remember. And for a split second — a fraction of temporality — he actually hoped he wouldn’t get his memories back.
Then Fandral returned his bite with a similar nip and jerked him out of whatever fantasy land his mind had drifted to.
He blinked. Fandral was hard between his fingers, the tip of his cock slick. And Loki’s lips pursed in an unconscious pout at the aching between his legs and a sudden sensation of indecision. “Damnit.”
Loki wanted to be in control. He wanted to be the dominant one. He wanted to be first. At least, that’s what his ego wanted. That’s what his pride craved. But his psyche, whatever deep and foolishly emotional core existed beneath his overbearing facade, wanted the opposite.
“Take me, Todd.” Loki paused. “Lancelot. Seth. Shirley. Phillip. Gawain. Sven. Whatever your name is. And do it before I change my mind.”
He just wasn’t sure how and that was going to be mildly frustrating.
At least for a little while.
The strokes slowed and the kiss broke again, though Fandral kept his face close to his, brushing his nose against his gently as he listened to him speak. The list of different names made him smile, laughing softly, though he’d definitely have to avoid letting him use a few of those again. Todd? No, thank you. Shirley? Absolutely not.
Though he did like the way Gawain sounded.
Keeping himself propped, he used his other hand, gripping at Loki’s hips to pull him forward a bit more, angling him better. There was a little more shifting but eventually he had them both exactly how he needed them to be, guiding himself, pressing the head of his cock against him before slowly, carefully lifting his hips to push in. He groaned then, nipping at Loki’s lower lip again before giving him a slow kiss.
Although something about that didn’t feel wholly right with him either, it was the closest thing he could come up with. And it wasn’t that he thought it was wrong. This man did strike him as someone who might be a friend. His friend? That he wasn’t confident of. But whoever he was — Todd, Shirley, or otherwise — Loki thought he was probably a good person.
Unlike himself, who he was fairly certain was not good. Not at all. Well, except when it came to what they were doing right now.
He lurched forward when Fandral tugged him by the hips, repositioning himself to make it easier for this act of passion. An anticipatory shiver ran up his spine and he grabbed onto the top of the headboard to sturdy himself as Fandral guided himself into position. Once there Loki let go of the headboard, arching himself to fit atop Fandral’s cock. But in the end so much maneuvering wasn’t really necessary. Flexibility didn’t seem to be an issue for either of them.
Loki moaned into the kiss as Fandral rolled his hips into him. He didn’t sweat — was that odd? — but he could feel his skin warm to the other man’s touch. He winced as Fandral pushed into him. Breaths quickened. Loki opened his mouth as though to say something — what a surprise — but whatever silly banter he’d planned was lost in another moan. This one less painful and more, well, pleased didn’t describe it. He gripped his fingers around Fandral’s arm, hard enough to bruise, while his other hand stroked himself. A desperate attempt to catch up.
Fandral wanted to tell him to relax, but it seemed his body knew what to do naturally and as he began to thrust -- gently at first -- the moans coming from Loki shifted to be more from pleasure than anything else.
Soon enough the thrusts grew more intense, deeper, trying not to hurt him (and suspecting somehow that it would take more than a bit of rough sex to do that). He rocked his hips up, eyes steady on him, tongue wetting his lips as he looked him over, his breath growing more labored as the minutes passed.
For a moment he let his gaze linger on the other man’s strokes which only encouraged him further.
Loki was oddly beautiful in a way, and though he couldn’t be sure that he’d ever actually been in this particular sort of situation with him before now, he did like it. A lot.
Their bantering had gone quiet, replaced with sounds of pleasure, groans and moans, hisses, and panting breaths as they continued. Eventually Fandral could feel a familiar build up and knew he’d be climaxing sooner rather than later, which hit him within moments after a particularly deep thrust with a loud grunt as he came inside of him.
Fandral grit his teeth and then let his torso fall back to the bed, breathing out a set of words that he had no idea he even knew, though somehow he knew exactly what they meant. “Streð mik.” Old Norse for ‘fuck me’, which seemed… apt.
When Loki reached his climax, shortly after Fandral, it was with mixed enthusiasm and disappointment. Not that he didn’t enjoy it. He did. He enjoyed it very much. But in those brief moments of togetherness, bodies locked in place and focused solely on the physical aspects of each other, he didn’t think. He didn’t wonder who he was. He didn’t mull over the strange glowing star entity hidden beneath his bed in a musty old satchel bag. He didn’t concern himself with the fact that he’d — whoever he was in his normal everyday life — clearly been collecting information on the other people of Derleth for unknown intentions. And he didn’t have this overwhelming sense of internal pain wallowing in his mind.
That sudden lack of focus brought all of these unsettling questions and feelings to the forefront. And he fought desperately to hide them with a guise of cool headed composure. It only half worked. But maybe Fandral was too distracted to notice.
Once Fandral flopped backward, Loki slowly eased the other man out of him. He glanced down at the mess of himself on the stranger’s torso and did another hand-waving magic trick to clean them both up. Maybe he was something of a neat freak. Or perhaps he was just opposed to being sticky. Or maybe he just wanted to hide the evidence that anything happened. Then he lied down beside him, breaths slowly returning to a less rigid state.
“I will in a minute. Just let me catch my breath first,” Loki mumbled in response to the other language. Again, instinctual. No thought. He just understood it. He frowned and wiped a straggling hair from his face. Then he snatched one of the daggers from his nightstand and held it up to see his own reflection in the glimmering flatness of the blade.
He rolled his head to Fandral and grinned. Then he placed the cool edge of the blade to Fandral’s chest, dragging the tip slowly across his torso. “Do you think we’ve done this before?”
There was another soft groan pulled from him as Loki moved, biting down on his lower lip for a moment, glancing at the mess left behind. Of course, this got magicked away and he chuckled softly.
That was a trick that could’ve come in handy so many times before, he was sure of it.
It was his response to what he said that seemed to catch his attention and he raised an eyebrow slightly. He had no idea what language it was that he’d spoken, but he knew what it had meant and clearly, so did Loki. His mouth pulled into something of a smirk. Interesting.
Fandral turned his own head toward him and returned the grin, not flinching one bit when the dagger blade dragged lightly over his skin. Not enough to cut him, but he could still feel the cold of the steel. “I don’t know,” he answered softly. “It almost seems like we have though, doesn’t it?” For Fandral, there had been nothing awkward about the encounter and they seemed to work together somehow. Instinct had taken over. He didn’t really want to overthink it though and instead leaned a bit more into him for another slow kiss.
I’m ambitious about how people see me. Not about how they make me feel, he thought to himself. And it felt true. But it also felt like he was trying to convince himself. Was self-deceit a constant in his life? What kind of person would willingly welcome that level of grief and unhappiness into their life?
Maybe he’d been hurt before. But again it was just another assumption. He could spin those wheels until he had vertigo and it wouldn’t change the fact that he had no idea. He couldn’t remember.
But Fandral’s casual, seemingly composed response to their random act of passion — Loki refused to think of it as lovemaking — settled some of his worries. He should just enjoy it for what it was. A distraction. A moment of physical fulfillment. It didn’t need to be anything more than that. Comfort was comfort. And Loki got the attention he desperately wanted which pleased him in ways he couldn’t explain.
And a kiss. Languid, taunting. Perhaps a little too intimate for his liking. But Fandral tasted like a memory. Not the memory of a person, but of a place.
Home. He tasted like home.
For some reason that filled him with both joy and sadness. And after a moment he shied away from the stranger’s lips.
Then Loki saw the scars. He’d noticed them before but didn’t pay them much heed. Now, however … He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at the torn areas of flesh on Fandral’s torso. Healed, but still jagged and present. As though they hadn’t been there for long. He lined up the tip of his dagger with one of the scars.
Had he done this?
“Maybe this was a bad idea…”
Fandral’s smile faltered a bit.
Then his eyes followed the other’s gaze to his scars. He’d noticed them after he’d taken off his bloodied shirt under his armor, but had only sat with them a moment, wondering. They were closed, healing, though still a bit tender. So he knew they were still fairly new, though he had zero recollection of how he’d gotten them.
He was fairly certain it had not been this man that had done it to him though.
Though somehow it seemed… strangely familiar, the tip of the dagger against the wound.
The faltered smile faded into more of a frown and his eyes finally lifted to look at Loki again, reading his face. Or attempting to, anyways. “Why do you think that?” He wasn’t sure that he agreed, but if he felt that way, well… it was in his best interest to respect it.
It could be coincidence, of course. Loki didn’t know why he thought that he might be the cause. He’d been trying not to think. He wanted to just be. To exist. And there was something freeing about not being tied to memories and a past. But there was also something terrifying about not knowing who he was. Not knowing whether he was good or bad or unimportant. But one thing he did know was that he didn’t want those scars to be his fault. And not just because of their one-off affair. But because he didn’t want to be the kind of person who hurt good people.
He didn’t want to be a villain.
He tossed his dagger onto the nightstand again. Suddenly he no longer wished to feel that lifeless hilt in his hand. And he didn’t want this man, whoever he was, to get the same impression he did. That Loki could have been the reason behind the wounds which should have been his death.
Should have been. But weren’t.
This was no way to enjoy a romantic interlude with a charming stranger. And Loki sensed that he was quickly on the path to ruining any chances he might have to return Fandral the intimate favor he’d just given him. That had been their deal, after all. Their bargain. Twice. Each of them a turn in the saddle.
The worry and concern washed away from his face quicker than he could blink. Then he leaned in close to Fandral’s mouth. A finger trailed over his lips.
But he’d never properly answered Fandral’s question, did he? Loki smirked. “Because I can see in your eyes that I’ll be the death of you, Sir Knight. You’ll never be able to recover from me. After I’ve had you, you’ll be useless to anyone else. Because I’ll always be there, lingering in your mind every time you’re with someone else.”
Loki pressed his lips to Fandral’s. It was a taunting kiss. The kind meant to make a person ache. Cut off too soon to add longing to the anguish. Then he jumped off the bed in all his unabashed nudity and stood in that small space between the mattress and the room divider. Loki waved his hand to the floor in front of him.
“Now kneel.”
Wink.