Whispers in the Dark [One-Shot]
I wrote something! *gasp* It wrote something AND it counts as smut! XD
Title: Whispers in the Dark
Pairing: Loki/Rose
Rating: M (ish… not too graphic)
Word count: 1,029 words
Summary: She craves these moments of hopeless abandonment that allow them both to forget, even if it is just for one second, that this world is not their own- that it isn’t home.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but dedicated to my wonderful Roski family <3
Author’s Notes: No guarantees for the norse - I used an online translator XD Also, this is my first time ever to write something smutty, so go easy on me =)
She dreams of ancient races and wars and times long since passed. There are men of metal and a world she calls home, but is lost to her forever. She dreams of the man who can change his face and who has given her all of time and space and over all those images of terror and glee and pain there is a song as old as the world itself and that she only almost remembers. She wakes with a start and tears hot on her face. Her heart is beating hard and too painfully fast in her chest.
When she turns her head to the side, she finds Loki is watching her. His head rests comfortably on his right arm and his eyes are still clouded with sleep. She is, as always, taken aback by how young he looks when he allows himself to put his mind at ease. Young and almost vulnerable. There are unspoken questions in the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t ask and in that moment, she might love him a little for that.
His eyes widen in surprise when she grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him in for a searing kiss. Her skin is feverish hot against his and when her lips part for him with a sigh, he tastes stardust on her tongue. She turns them both over and straddles his lap and, while he is still fighting off the last remnants of sleep, this ever present hunger for her is already filling him with lust and a desperate need to touch and to taste. She smirks against his lips when she feels him harden beneath her.
This is what she needs- a mindless tryst in the dark, with only the lights of the city outside to illuminate the face and body of the man - God, she reminds herself, still not able to fully, truly believe it- looking up at her with such unmistakable desire written on his delicate features. It arouses her to know that she can do this to him, that it is her very human touch that has him tremble. For all the cockiness and his talent for mind games, he will always be lost in his lust for her. She craves these moments of hopeless abandonment that allow them both to forget, even if it is just for one second, that this world is not their own- that it isn’t home.
His hands are gripping at her thighs hard enough to leave bruises, as she lowers herself onto him. She covers his mouth with hers in another desperate dance of lips and tongues and, as she takes him in, swallows his throaty groan. Then she leans back and, resting both her hands on his legs for support, starts moving at an achingly slow pace that takes just as much of her self-control as she hopes it does him.
She looks down at him as she moves. Her lips are parted slightly and her keening sounds of pleasure fill the air around him along with this intoxicating scent of hers. He feels like prey, lost beyond saving in this mortal woman who tastes like stars and time itself. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes, which tells him she can see right through him. There’s a power, ancient and carnal, which seems to be radiating from her, pulling him in, binding him to her. A name as old as the Allfather himself resounds in the back of his mind, but he pushes it aside. Not now. Not ever. She doesn’t know; has forgotten all about the wolf loitering in the back of her mind. “Loki”, she whispers, her voice pleading as she continues to torture him. “Touch me…”
“Damn you”, he growls as his patience snaps like a chord that’s been hauled beyond its breaking point. He sits up so that their torsos are almost touching and snakes an arm around her waist. His other hand cups her breast through the soft fabric of her nightgown. Her hands are in his hair now and when he lightly grazes his thumb over her hardened nipple he registers how she falters, for the slightest of moments, in her pace as she shudders against him. It still isn’t enough. She yelps in surprise when he rips her nightgown open, but then his mouth is on her and continues where his hand left off- lips suckling, tongue stroking and teeth tugging - and all she can do is bow back helplessly and just feel. The first wave of pleasure hits her hard and unexpected and she muffles her cry of release against the damp skin of his shoulder. He can’t think far beyond this feeling of triumph as she clings to him, her contracting muscles deliciously trapping him inside her. “More.”
It sounds more like a threat than a promise and it is. His hunger for her is burning him with something dangerously close to pain. Even the torn silk is now too much of a barrier. He impatiently rips it aside and, still buried within her, pushes her onto her back. Control is beyond him as he positions her to take even more of him. He mutters sweet nonsense in his mother tongue, promising her the sun and the stars one moment and cursing her the next for this spell she’s woven around him. One time she is almost certain she hears him say something perilously similar to ‘Ulv’, but she can’t be sure.
Each time she rises to meet him, he drives inside her deeper, riding her hard. Not enough. Never enough. “Look at me”, he commands. She obeys and as her already clouded eyes go dark, he threads his fingers through hers until their palms touch in a strangely intimate way and follows her over that last vicious peak.
Later, as he cradles her close and she gently dozes off with her head resting on his bare chest, he presses his lips softly to her hair. “Óst min“, he whispers, brave only in the knowledge that she can’t hear him anymore. “Mun þú mik… Ávalt.“
My love. Remember me… Always.
Title: Whispers in the Dark
Pairing: Loki/Rose
Rating: M (ish… not too graphic)
Word count: 1,029 words
Summary: She craves these moments of hopeless abandonment that allow them both to forget, even if it is just for one second, that this world is not their own- that it isn’t home.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but dedicated to my wonderful Roski family <3
Author’s Notes: No guarantees for the norse - I used an online translator XD Also, this is my first time ever to write something smutty, so go easy on me =)
She dreams of ancient races and wars and times long since passed. There are men of metal and a world she calls home, but is lost to her forever. She dreams of the man who can change his face and who has given her all of time and space and over all those images of terror and glee and pain there is a song as old as the world itself and that she only almost remembers. She wakes with a start and tears hot on her face. Her heart is beating hard and too painfully fast in her chest.
When she turns her head to the side, she finds Loki is watching her. His head rests comfortably on his right arm and his eyes are still clouded with sleep. She is, as always, taken aback by how young he looks when he allows himself to put his mind at ease. Young and almost vulnerable. There are unspoken questions in the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t ask and in that moment, she might love him a little for that.
His eyes widen in surprise when she grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him in for a searing kiss. Her skin is feverish hot against his and when her lips part for him with a sigh, he tastes stardust on her tongue. She turns them both over and straddles his lap and, while he is still fighting off the last remnants of sleep, this ever present hunger for her is already filling him with lust and a desperate need to touch and to taste. She smirks against his lips when she feels him harden beneath her.
This is what she needs- a mindless tryst in the dark, with only the lights of the city outside to illuminate the face and body of the man - God, she reminds herself, still not able to fully, truly believe it- looking up at her with such unmistakable desire written on his delicate features. It arouses her to know that she can do this to him, that it is her very human touch that has him tremble. For all the cockiness and his talent for mind games, he will always be lost in his lust for her. She craves these moments of hopeless abandonment that allow them both to forget, even if it is just for one second, that this world is not their own- that it isn’t home.
His hands are gripping at her thighs hard enough to leave bruises, as she lowers herself onto him. She covers his mouth with hers in another desperate dance of lips and tongues and, as she takes him in, swallows his throaty groan. Then she leans back and, resting both her hands on his legs for support, starts moving at an achingly slow pace that takes just as much of her self-control as she hopes it does him.
She looks down at him as she moves. Her lips are parted slightly and her keening sounds of pleasure fill the air around him along with this intoxicating scent of hers. He feels like prey, lost beyond saving in this mortal woman who tastes like stars and time itself. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes, which tells him she can see right through him. There’s a power, ancient and carnal, which seems to be radiating from her, pulling him in, binding him to her. A name as old as the Allfather himself resounds in the back of his mind, but he pushes it aside. Not now. Not ever. She doesn’t know; has forgotten all about the wolf loitering in the back of her mind. “Loki”, she whispers, her voice pleading as she continues to torture him. “Touch me…”
“Damn you”, he growls as his patience snaps like a chord that’s been hauled beyond its breaking point. He sits up so that their torsos are almost touching and snakes an arm around her waist. His other hand cups her breast through the soft fabric of her nightgown. Her hands are in his hair now and when he lightly grazes his thumb over her hardened nipple he registers how she falters, for the slightest of moments, in her pace as she shudders against him. It still isn’t enough. She yelps in surprise when he rips her nightgown open, but then his mouth is on her and continues where his hand left off- lips suckling, tongue stroking and teeth tugging - and all she can do is bow back helplessly and just feel. The first wave of pleasure hits her hard and unexpected and she muffles her cry of release against the damp skin of his shoulder. He can’t think far beyond this feeling of triumph as she clings to him, her contracting muscles deliciously trapping him inside her. “More.”
It sounds more like a threat than a promise and it is. His hunger for her is burning him with something dangerously close to pain. Even the torn silk is now too much of a barrier. He impatiently rips it aside and, still buried within her, pushes her onto her back. Control is beyond him as he positions her to take even more of him. He mutters sweet nonsense in his mother tongue, promising her the sun and the stars one moment and cursing her the next for this spell she’s woven around him. One time she is almost certain she hears him say something perilously similar to ‘Ulv’, but she can’t be sure.
Each time she rises to meet him, he drives inside her deeper, riding her hard. Not enough. Never enough. “Look at me”, he commands. She obeys and as her already clouded eyes go dark, he threads his fingers through hers until their palms touch in a strangely intimate way and follows her over that last vicious peak.
Later, as he cradles her close and she gently dozes off with her head resting on his bare chest, he presses his lips softly to her hair. “Óst min“, he whispers, brave only in the knowledge that she can’t hear him anymore. “Mun þú mik… Ávalt.“
My love. Remember me… Always.