Möbius: Porn Edition
Möbius
An Avengers Ficlet
Characters: Loki, Prometheus, Persephone, Others
Warnings/Kinks: Loki/Prometheus. Dub-con, cause Loki is still a little cray-cray, also drunk.
Part the First.... Part the Previous
Ruder, spiteful elements once called Prometheus freakish big, and to most races this was true, but his brother was perfectly proportional. His godhood saw to that, and saw that no scars marred a symmetrical face once burned by wind and sun. Loki poured, eyes downcast and focused on his self-appointed task. It was getting harder to do as his head steadily grew lighter and his body swayed, hands fumbling. He giggled and his brother steadied him, the heat of Prometheus' hand soaking into the skin of Loki's back.
Prometheus' smile was more a bearing of teeth; hungry. But honest. And all for Loki.
An over abundance spilled into his brother's cup and the golden liquid sloshed out the sides, dripping over his hands. Loki stared at the mess, felt his lips tremble.
"Shh." The hand at his back pulled him close as another gently took the tankard and set it down. Their knees bumped, and Prometheus lifted Loki's soaked fingers to his lips, kissed each knuckle and lapped up the juice between the fingers. Loki's keen cut through the dull roar of the feast, drawing attention of both living and dead.
(Loki shuddered even as the Thief stoked the burning in his loins. He remembered his fingers being bitten off, chopped, dislocated and shredded. But Prometheus was his brother, and loved him, and the honey-haze in earthy brown eyes spoke of a want that Loki wouldn't have considered before.
But before was Before, and the Dead did as they pleased.
Now, now was Now where all his ties to Asgard hung limp in the wind searching for an anchor.)
Prometheus' hands wandered. Loki welcomed them, for it had been years -or so it seemed- since he'd been able to touch anyone. He placed his own hands on his brother's thighs as his cheeks were given a tentative squeeze, breathed a soft yes, and with a yearning stretch brushed his cheek against Prometheus' chin as he was lifted.
Prometheus's lips moved to his unprotected neck, laved at the hollow of his throat before latching onto his pulse point with a vengeance. Loki moaned, and his mind drifted. A finger slipped past chains and cloth to circle his entrance as another, thicker and longer, finger bumped against his own while his legs wrapped around Prometheus' waist.
(Someone was shouting, but people were always shouting, here, and so Loki ignored them. He buried himself in happier memories and let the Mead soak into his soul and sooth his hurts.
Persephone stroked his hair as fire licked his skin.)
Loki ground his hips down, panting, as his body lit up. He was hot -too hot- and sweat trickled down his chest, cloth sticking to his back, but his brother was holding him kissing his forehead and pressing in, and it felt wonderful. He squirmed, smelt ash, and ribbons of liquid gold passed hot but harmlessly over his skin.
Loki fisted his hands in the leather of his brother's jerkin, squeezing, as a cool wind stroked his backside and his balls fit perfectly in a giant's palm. "You are not theirs." The living bonfire spoke, crooking his finger and causing Loki to arch backward as that ever-hungry mouth followed and bit his nipple and flicked pools of false-possession, false protection away. "You belong only to yourself… and Us."
A laugh, a rumble, a wetness between his cheeks and thick, slick butter as he was slowly spread wide by careful hands. It hurt, but not too much, adding a sharp spice of flavor to the joining. Loki smiled slyly, face hot, and reached for the almost forgotten cup. He drank, filled his mouth, and pressed wet lips to hot. His brother opened for him and sputtered in surprise as Loki flooded the titan's mouth with more mead.
"Clever boy." Prometheus laughed in good cheer, happily shucking his soiled vest as Loki played with the ties of his pants. Hands stilled over his. "I don't think you're ready for that, yet, brother."
(Smoke had filled the chamber, frost stretched over high windows and Persephone held court. She swirled the wine in her cup, reclining, and smiled dreamily toward a horrified mother, a bewildered and mead-drenched father.
"Have you ever seen a more perfect display of brotherly love?")
Loki pouted, mouthed the wet spot on the leather and wondered what it would feel like. The fingers inside him played along his inner walls, chasing away the phantom feel of blades and broken things, and he sighed.
Emotions roiled up, boiled out, wavered like the sea in a storm as he cried and held onto his brother for the sake of holding.
Three fingers in him when he came into his brother's hand, and as he was laid down and crushed grapes sleepily cleaning his brother's fingers; favor repaid. He wondered at his own taste, and reached up like a whimpering babe. Now?
He was tired. So tired.
Lips brushing his drooping eyelids.
Loki wound naked fingers through the dark mass of his brother's hair, breathed in the must of a bare chest, and with a gasp let the steady of rocking of his brother lead him to Morpheus' arms.
(What they would do could not be undone, and he didn't need to see it. Not yet. Let the delusion linger.
Loki could not take all of Prometheus, but this feast, this night, this reckoning was not about Prometheus. Exhausted, and finally safe enough to truly sleep, the god of flames pulled out and considered the pre-cum that dripped from his brother.
His wife tipped her head, and teasingly spread her legs. She was the earth to be plowed, but first…
Fire burned and consumed everything it touched.
But it also purified.)
An Avengers Ficlet
Characters: Loki, Prometheus, Persephone, Others
Warnings/Kinks: Loki/Prometheus. Dub-con, cause Loki is still a little cray-cray, also drunk.
Part the First.... Part the Previous
Ruder, spiteful elements once called Prometheus freakish big, and to most races this was true, but his brother was perfectly proportional. His godhood saw to that, and saw that no scars marred a symmetrical face once burned by wind and sun. Loki poured, eyes downcast and focused on his self-appointed task. It was getting harder to do as his head steadily grew lighter and his body swayed, hands fumbling. He giggled and his brother steadied him, the heat of Prometheus' hand soaking into the skin of Loki's back.
Prometheus' smile was more a bearing of teeth; hungry. But honest. And all for Loki.
An over abundance spilled into his brother's cup and the golden liquid sloshed out the sides, dripping over his hands. Loki stared at the mess, felt his lips tremble.
"Shh." The hand at his back pulled him close as another gently took the tankard and set it down. Their knees bumped, and Prometheus lifted Loki's soaked fingers to his lips, kissed each knuckle and lapped up the juice between the fingers. Loki's keen cut through the dull roar of the feast, drawing attention of both living and dead.
(Loki shuddered even as the Thief stoked the burning in his loins. He remembered his fingers being bitten off, chopped, dislocated and shredded. But Prometheus was his brother, and loved him, and the honey-haze in earthy brown eyes spoke of a want that Loki wouldn't have considered before.
But before was Before, and the Dead did as they pleased.
Now, now was Now where all his ties to Asgard hung limp in the wind searching for an anchor.)
Prometheus' hands wandered. Loki welcomed them, for it had been years -or so it seemed- since he'd been able to touch anyone. He placed his own hands on his brother's thighs as his cheeks were given a tentative squeeze, breathed a soft yes, and with a yearning stretch brushed his cheek against Prometheus' chin as he was lifted.
Prometheus's lips moved to his unprotected neck, laved at the hollow of his throat before latching onto his pulse point with a vengeance. Loki moaned, and his mind drifted. A finger slipped past chains and cloth to circle his entrance as another, thicker and longer, finger bumped against his own while his legs wrapped around Prometheus' waist.
(Someone was shouting, but people were always shouting, here, and so Loki ignored them. He buried himself in happier memories and let the Mead soak into his soul and sooth his hurts.
Persephone stroked his hair as fire licked his skin.)
Loki ground his hips down, panting, as his body lit up. He was hot -too hot- and sweat trickled down his chest, cloth sticking to his back, but his brother was holding him kissing his forehead and pressing in, and it felt wonderful. He squirmed, smelt ash, and ribbons of liquid gold passed hot but harmlessly over his skin.
Loki fisted his hands in the leather of his brother's jerkin, squeezing, as a cool wind stroked his backside and his balls fit perfectly in a giant's palm. "You are not theirs." The living bonfire spoke, crooking his finger and causing Loki to arch backward as that ever-hungry mouth followed and bit his nipple and flicked pools of false-possession, false protection away. "You belong only to yourself… and Us."
A laugh, a rumble, a wetness between his cheeks and thick, slick butter as he was slowly spread wide by careful hands. It hurt, but not too much, adding a sharp spice of flavor to the joining. Loki smiled slyly, face hot, and reached for the almost forgotten cup. He drank, filled his mouth, and pressed wet lips to hot. His brother opened for him and sputtered in surprise as Loki flooded the titan's mouth with more mead.
"Clever boy." Prometheus laughed in good cheer, happily shucking his soiled vest as Loki played with the ties of his pants. Hands stilled over his. "I don't think you're ready for that, yet, brother."
(Smoke had filled the chamber, frost stretched over high windows and Persephone held court. She swirled the wine in her cup, reclining, and smiled dreamily toward a horrified mother, a bewildered and mead-drenched father.
"Have you ever seen a more perfect display of brotherly love?")
Loki pouted, mouthed the wet spot on the leather and wondered what it would feel like. The fingers inside him played along his inner walls, chasing away the phantom feel of blades and broken things, and he sighed.
Emotions roiled up, boiled out, wavered like the sea in a storm as he cried and held onto his brother for the sake of holding.
Three fingers in him when he came into his brother's hand, and as he was laid down and crushed grapes sleepily cleaning his brother's fingers; favor repaid. He wondered at his own taste, and reached up like a whimpering babe. Now?
He was tired. So tired.
Lips brushing his drooping eyelids.
Loki wound naked fingers through the dark mass of his brother's hair, breathed in the must of a bare chest, and with a gasp let the steady of rocking of his brother lead him to Morpheus' arms.
(What they would do could not be undone, and he didn't need to see it. Not yet. Let the delusion linger.
Loki could not take all of Prometheus, but this feast, this night, this reckoning was not about Prometheus. Exhausted, and finally safe enough to truly sleep, the god of flames pulled out and considered the pre-cum that dripped from his brother.
His wife tipped her head, and teasingly spread her legs. She was the earth to be plowed, but first…
Fire burned and consumed everything it touched.
But it also purified.)